Part 10

The farmer's patient care and toil Are oftener wanting than the soil.

A wealthy ploughman drawing near his end, Call'd in his sons apart from every friend, And said, "When of your sire bereft, The heritage our fathers left Guard well, nor sell a single field. A treasure in it is conceal'd: The place, precisely, I don't know, But industry will serve to show. The harvest past, Time's forelock take, And search with plough, and spade, and rake; Turn over every inch of sod, Nor leave unsearch'd a single clod." The father died. The sons--and not in vain-- Turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again; That year their acres bore More grain than e'er before. Though hidden money found they none, Yet had their father wisely done, To show by such a measure, That toil itself is treasure.

The Ass Dressed in the Lion's Skin.

Clad in a lion's shaggy hide, An ass spread terror far and wide, And, though himself a coward brute, Put all the world to scampering rout: But, by a piece of evil luck, A portion of an ear outstuck, Which soon reveal'd the error Of all the panic terror. Old Martin did his office quick. Surprised were all who did not know the trick, To see that Martin, at his will, Was driving lions to the mill!

In France, the men are not a few Of whom this fable proves too true; Whose valour chiefly doth reside In coat they wear and horse they ride.

The Woods and the Woodman.

A certain wood-chopper lost or broke From his axe's eye a bit of oak. The forest must needs be somewhat spared While such a loss was being repair'd. Came the man at last, and humbly pray'd That the woods would kindly lend to him-- A moderate loan--a single limb, Whereof might another helve be made, And his axe should elsewhere drive its trade. O, the oaks and firs that then might stand, A pride and a joy throughout the land, For their ancientness and glorious charms! The innocent Forest lent him arms; But bitter indeed was her regret; For the wretch, his axe new-helved and whet, Did nought but his benefactress spoil Of the finest trees that graced her soil; And ceaselessly was she made to groan, Doing penance for that fatal loan.

Behold the world-stage and its actors, Where benefits hurt benefactors!-- A weary theme, and full of pain; For where's the shade so cool and sweet, Protecting strangers from the heat, But might of such a wrong complain? Alas! I vex myself in vain; Ingratitude, do what I will, Is sure to be the fashion still.

The Fox, the Wolf, and the horse.

A fox, though young, by no means raw, Had seen a horse, the first he ever saw: "Ho! neighbour wolf," said he to one quite green, "A creature in our meadow I have seen,-- Sleek, grand! I seem to see him yet,-- The finest beast I ever met." "Is he a stouter one than we?" The wolf demanded, eagerly; "Some picture of him let me see." "If I could paint," said fox, "I should delight T' anticipate your pleasure at the sight; But come; who knows? perhaps it is a prey By fortune offer'd in our way." They went. The horse, turn'd loose to graze, Not liking much their looks and ways, Was just about to gallop off. "Sir," said the fox, "your humble servants, we Make bold to ask you what your name may be." The horse, an animal with brains enough, Replied, "Sirs, you yourselves may read my name; My shoer round my heel hath writ the same." The fox excus'd himself for want of knowledge: "Me, sir, my parents did not educate,-- So poor, a hole was their entire estate. My friend, the wolf, however, taught at college, Could read it were it even Greek." The wolf, to flattery weak, Approach'd to verify the boast; For which four teeth he lost. The high raised hoof came down with such a blow, As laid him bleeding on the ground full low. "My brother," said the fox, "this shows how just What once was taught me by a fox of wit,-- Which on thy jaws this animal hath writ,-- 'All unknown things the wise mistrust.'"

The Fox and the Turkeys.

Against a robber fox, a tree Some turkeys served as citadel. That villain, much provoked to see Each standing there as sentinel, Cried out, "Such witless birds At me stretch out their necks, and gobble! No, by the powers! I'll give them trouble." He verified his words. The moon, that shined full on the oak, Seem'd then to help the turkey folk. But fox, in arts of siege well versed, Ransack'd his bag of tricks accursed. He feign'd himself about to climb; Walk'd on his hinder legs sublime; Then death most aptly counterfeited, And seem'd anon resuscitated. A practiser of wizard arts Could not have fill'd so many parts. In moonlight he contrived to raise His tail, and make it seem a blaze: And countless other tricks like that. Meanwhile, no turkey slept or sat. Their constant vigilance at length, As hoped the fox, wore out their strength. Bewilder'd by the rigs he run, They lost their balance one by one. As Renard slew, he laid aside, Till nearly half of them had died; Then proudly to his larder bore, And laid them up, an ample store.

A foe, by being over-heeded, Has often in his plan succeeded.

The Wallet.

From heaven, one day, did Jupiter proclaim, "Let all that live before my throne appear, And there if any one hath aught to blame, In matter, form, or texture of his frame, He may bring forth his grievance without fear. Redress shall instantly be given to each. Come, monkey, now, first let us have your speech. You see these quadrupeds, your brothers; Comparing, then, yourself with others, Are you well satisfied?" "And wherefore not?" Says Jock. "Haven't I four trotters with the rest? Is not my visage comely as the best? But this my brother Bruin, is a blot On thy creation fair; And sooner than be painted I'd be shot, Were I, great sire, a bear." The bear approaching, doth he make complaint? Not he;--himself he lauds without restraint. The elephant he needs must criticise; To crop his ears and stretch his tail were wise; A creature he of huge, misshapen size. The elephant, though famed as beast judicious, While on his own account he had no wishes, Pronounced dame whale too big to suit his taste; Of flesh and fat she was a perfect waste. The little ant, again, pronounced the gnat too wee; To such a speck, a vast colossus she. Each censured by the rest, himself content, Back to their homes all living things were sent.

Such folly liveth yet with human fools. For others lynxes, for ourselves but moles. Great blemishes in other men we spy, Which in ourselves we pass most kindly by. As in this world we're but way-farers, Kind Heaven has made us wallet-bearers. The pouch behind our own defects must store, The faults of others lodge in that before.

The Woodman and Mercury.

A man that labour'd in the wood Had lost his honest livelihood; That is to say, His axe was gone astray. He had no tools to spare; This wholly earn'd his fare. Without a hope beside, He sat him down and cried, "Alas, my axe! where can it be? O Jove! but send it back to me, And it shall strike good blows for thee." His prayer in high Olympus heard, Swift Mercury started at the word. "Your axe must not be lost," said he: "Now, will you know it when you see? An axe I found upon the road." With that an axe of gold he show'd. "Is't this?" The woodman answer'd, "Nay." An axe of silver, bright and gay, Refused the honest woodman too. At last the finder brought to view An axe of iron, steel, and wood. "That's mine," he said, in joyful mood; "With that I'll quite contented be." The god replied, "I give the three, As due reward of honesty." This luck when neighbouring choppers knew, They lost their axes, not a few, And sent their prayers to Jupiter So fast, he knew not which to hear. His winged son, however, sent With gold and silver axes, went. Each would have thought himself a fool Not to have own'd the richest tool. But Mercury promptly gave, instead Of it, a blow upon the head.

With simple truth to be contented, Is surest not to be repented; But still there are who would With evil trap the good,-- Whose cunning is but stupid, For Jove is never dupéd.

The Lion and the Monkey.

The lion, for his kingdom's sake, In morals would some lessons take, And therefore call'd, one summer's day, The monkey, master of the arts, An animal of brilliant parts, To hear what he could say. "Great king," the monkey thus began, "To reign upon the wisest plan Requires a prince to set his zeal, And passion for the public weal, Distinctly and quite high above A certain feeling call'd self-love, The parent of all vices, In creatures of all sizes. To will this feeling from one's breast away, Is not the easy labour of a day; By that your majesty august, Will execute your royal trust, From folly free and aught unjust." "Give me," replied the king, "Example of each thing." "Each species," said the sage,-- "And I begin with ours,-- Exalts its own peculiar powers Above sound reason's gauge. Meanwhile, all other kinds and tribes As fools and blockheads it describes, With other compliments as cheap. But, on the other hand, the same Self-love inspires a beast to heap The highest pyramid of fame For every one that bears his name; Because he justly deems such praise The easiest way himself to raise. 'Tis my conclusion in the case, That many a talent here below Is but cabal, or sheer grimace,-- The art of seeming things to know-- An art in which perfection lies More with the ignorant than wise."

The Shepherd and the Lion.

The Fable Æsop tells is nearly this:-- A shepherd from his flock began to miss, And long'd to catch the stealer of, his sheep. Before a cavern, dark and deep, Where wolves retired by day to sleep, Which he suspected as the thieves, He set his trap among the leaves; And, ere he left the place, He thus invoked celestial grace:-- "O king of all the powers divine, Against the rogue but grant me this delight, That this my trap may catch him in my sight, And I, from twenty calves of mine, Will make the fattest thine." But while the words were on his tongue, Forth came a lion great and strong. Down crouch'd the man of sheep, and said, With shivering fright half dead, "Alas! that man should never be aware Of what may be the meaning of his prayer! To catch the robber of my flocks, O king of gods, I pledged a calf to thee: If from his clutches thou wilt rescue me, I'll raise my offering to an ox."

The Horse and the Wolf.

A wolf who, fall'n on needy days, In sharp look-out for means and ways, Espied a horse turn'd out to graze. His joy the reader may opine. "Once got," said he, "this game were fine; But if a sheep, 'twere sooner mine. I can't proceed my usual way; Some trick must now be put in play." This said, He came with measured tread, And told the horse, with learned verbs, He knew the power of roots and herbs,-- Whatever grew about those borders,-- He soon could cure of all disorders. If he, Sir Horse, would not conceal The symptoms of his case, He, Doctor Wolf, would gratis heal; For that to feed in such a place, And run about untied, Was proof itself of some disease, As all the books decide. "I have, good Doctor, if you please," Replied the horse, "as I presume, Beneath my foot, an aposthume." "My son," replied the learned leech, "That part, as all our authors teach, Is strikingly susceptible Of ills which make acceptable What you may also have from me-- The aid of skilful surgery." The fellow, with this talk sublime, Watch'd for a snap the fitting time. Meanwhile, suspicious of some trick, The weary patient nearer draws, And gives his doctor such a kick, As makes a chowder of his jaws. Exclaim'd the Wolf, in sorry plight, "I own those heels have served me right. I err'd to quit my trade, as I will not in future; Me Nature surely made for nothing but a butcher."

The Eagle and the Owl.

The eagle and the owl, resolved to cease Their war, embraced in pledge of peace. On faith of king, on faith of owl, they swore That they would eat each other's chicks no more. "But know you mine?" said Wisdom's bird. "Not I, indeed," the eagle cried. "The worse for that," the owl replied: "I fear your oath's a useless word; I fear that you, as king, will not Consider duly who or what: Adieu, my young, if you should meet them!" "Describe them, then, and I'll not eat them," The eagle said. The owl replied: "My little ones, I say with pride, For grace of form cannot be match'd,-- The prettiest birds that e'er were hatch'd; By this you cannot fail to know them; 'Tis needless, therefore, that I show them." At length God gives the owl a set of heirs, And while at early eve abroad he fares, In quest of birds and mice for food, Our eagle haply spies the brood, As on some craggy rock they sprawl, Or nestle in some ruined wall, (But which it matters not at all,) And thinks them ugly little frights, Grim, sad, with voice like shrieking sprites. "These chicks," says he, "with looks almost infernal, Can't be the darlings of our friend nocturnal. I'll sup of them." And so he did, not slightly:-- He never sups, if he can help it, lightly. The owl return'd; and, sad, he found Nought left but claws upon the ground. He pray'd the gods above and gods below To smite the brigand who had caused his woe. Quoth one, "On you alone the blame must fall; Thinking your like the loveliest of all You told the eagle of your young ones' graces; You gave the picture of their faces:-- Had it of likeness any traces?"

The Miser and the Monkey.