Part 5

The Two Bulls and the Frog.

Two bulls engaged in shocking battle, Both for a certain heifer's sake, And lordship over certain cattle, A frog began to groan and quake. "But what is this to you?" Inquired another of the croaking crew. "Why, sister, don't you see, The end of this will be, That one of these big brutes will yield, And then be exiled from the field? No more permitted on the grass to feed, He'll forage through our marsh, on rush and reed; And while he eats or chews the cud, Will trample on us in the mud. Alas! to think how frogs must suffer By means of this proud lady heifer!" This fear was not without good sense. One bull was beat, and much to their expense; For, quick retreating to their reedy bower, He trod on twenty of them in an hour.

Of little folks it oft has been the fate To suffer for the follies of the great.

The Bat and the Two Weasels.

A blundering bat once stuck her head Into a wakeful weasel's bed; Whereat the mistress of the house, A deadly foe of rats and mice, Was making ready in a trice To eat the stranger as a mouse. "What! do you dare," she said, "to creep in The very bed I sometimes sleep in, Now, after all the provocation I've suffered from your thievish nation? Are you not really a mouse, That gnawing pest of every house, Your special aim to do the cheese ill? Ay, that you are, or I'm no weasel." "I beg your pardon," said the bat; "My kind is very far from that. What! I a mouse! Who told you such a lie? Why, ma'am, I am a bird; And, if you doubt my word, Just see the wings with which I fly. Long live the mice that cleave the sky!" These reasons had so fair a show, The weasel let the creature go.

By some strange fancy led, The same wise blunderhead, But two or three days later, Had chosen for her rest Another weasel's nest, This last, of birds a special hater. New peril brought this step absurd: Without a moment's thought or puzzle, Dame weasel opened her peaked muzzle To eat th' intruder as a bird. "Hold! do not wrong me," cried the bat; "I'm truly no such thing as that. Your eyesight strange conclusions gathers. What makes a bird, I pray? Its feathers. I'm cousin of the mice and rats. Great Jupiter confound the cats!" The bat, by such adroit replying, Twice saved herself from dying.

And many a human stranger Thus turns his coat in danger; And sings, as suits, where'er he goes, "God save the king!"--or "save his foes!"

The Bird wounded by an Arrow.

A bird, with plumèd arrow shot, In dying case deplored her lot: "Alas!" she cried, "the anguish of the thought! This ruin partly by myself was brought! Hard-hearted men! from us to borrow What wings to us the fatal arrow! But mock us not, ye cruel race, For you must often take our place."

The work of half the human brothers Is making arms against the others.

The Lion and the Gnat.

"Go, paltry insect, nature's meanest brat!" Thus said the royal lion to the gnat. The gnat declared immediate war. "Think you," said he, "your royal name To me worth caring for? Think you I tremble at your power or fame? The ox is bigger far than you; Yet him I drive, and all his crew." This said, as one that did no fear owe, Himself he blew the battle charge, Himself both trumpeter and hero. At first he play'd about at large, Then on the lion's neck, at leisure, settled, And there the royal beast full sorely nettled. With foaming mouth, and flashing eye, He roars. All creatures hide or fly,-- Such mortal terror at The work of one poor gnat! With constant change of his attack, The snout now stinging, now the back, And now the chambers of the nose; The pigmy fly no mercy shows. The lion's rage was at its height; His viewless foe now laugh'd outright, When on his battle-ground he saw, That every savage tooth and claw Had got its proper beauty By doing bloody duty; Himself, the hapless lion, tore his hide, And lash'd with sounding tail from side to side. Ah! bootless blow, and bite, and curse! He beat the harmless air, and worse; For, though so fierce and stout, By effort wearied out, He fainted, fell, gave up the quarrel; The gnat retires with verdant laurel.

We often have the most to fear From those we most despise; Again, great risks a man may clear, Who by the smallest dies.

The Ass Loaded with Sponges.

A man, whom I shall call an ass-eteer, His sceptre like some Roman emperor bearing, Drove on two coursers of protracted ear, The one, with sponges laden, briskly faring; The other lifting legs As if he trod on eggs, With constant need of goading, And bags of salt for loading. O'er hill and dale our merry pilgrims pass'd, Till, coming to a river's ford at last, They stopp'd quite puzzled on the shore. Our asseteer had cross'd the stream before; So, on the lighter beast astride, He drives the other, spite of dread, Which, loath indeed to go ahead, Into a deep hole turns aside, And, facing right about, Where he went in, comes out; For duckings, two or three Had power the salt to melt, So that the creature felt His burden'd shoulders free. The sponger, like a sequent sheep, Pursuing through the water deep, Into the same hole plunges Himself, his rider, and the sponges. All three drank deeply: asseteer and ass For boon companions of their load might pass; Which last became so sore a weight, The ass fell down, Belike to drown His rider risking equal fate. A helper came, no matter who.

The moral needs no more ado-- That all can't act alike,-- The point I wish'd to strike.

The Dove and the Ant.

A dove came to a brook to drink, When, leaning o'er its crumbling brink, An ant fell in, and vainly tried, In this, to her, an ocean tide, To reach the land; whereat the dove, With every living thing in love, Was prompt a spire of grass to throw her, By which the ant regain'd the shore.

A barefoot scamp, both mean and sly, Soon after chanced this dove to spy; And, being arm'd with bow and arrow, The hungry codger doubted not The bird of Venus, in his pot, Would make a soup before the morrow. Just as his deadly bow he drew, Our ant just bit his heel. Roused by the villain's squeal, The dove took timely hint, and flew Far from the rascal's coop;-- And with her flew his soup.

The Cock and the Fox.

Upon a tree there mounted guard A veteran cock, adroit and cunning; When to the roots a fox up running, Spoke thus, in tones of kind regard:-- "Our quarrel, brother, 's at an end; Henceforth I hope to live your friend; For peace now reigns Throughout the animal domains. I bear the news:--come down, I pray, And give me the embrace fraternal; And please, my brother, don't delay. So much the tidings do concern all, That I must spread them far to-day. Now you and yours can take your walks Without a fear or thought of hawks. And should you clash with them or others, In us you'll find the best of brothers;-- For which you may, this joyful night, Your merry bonfires light. But, first, let's seal the bliss With one fraternal kiss." "Good friend," the cock replied, "upon my word, A better thing I never heard; And doubly I rejoice To hear it from your voice; And, really there must be something in it, For yonder come two greyhounds, which I flatter Myself are couriers on this very matter. They come so fast, they'll be here in a minute. I'll down, and all of us will seal the blessing With general kissing and caressing." "Adieu," said fox; "my errand's pressing; I'll hurry on my way, And we'll rejoice some other day." So off the fellow scamper'd, quick and light, To gain the fox-holes of a neighbouring height, Less happy in his stratagem than flight. The cock laugh'd sweetly in his sleeve;-- 'Tis doubly sweet deceiver to deceive.

The Lion beaten by the Man.

A picture once was shown, In which one man, alone, Upon the ground had thrown A lion fully grown. Much gloried at the sight the rabble. A lion thus rebuked their babble:-- "That you have got the victory there, There is no contradiction. But, gentles, possibly you are The dupes of easy fiction: Had we the art of making pictures, Perhaps our champion had beat yours!"

Philomel and Progne.

From home and city spires, one day, The swallow Progne flew away, And sought the bosky dell Where sang poor Philomel. "My sister," Progne said, "how do you do? 'Tis now a thousand years since you Have been conceal'd from human view; I'm sure I have not seen your face Once since the times of Thrace. Pray, will you never quit this dull retreat?" "Where could I find," said Philomel, "so sweet?" "What! sweet?" cried Progne--"sweet to waste Such tones on beasts devoid of taste Or on some rustic, at the most! Should you by deserts be engross'd? Come, be the city's pride and boast. Besides, the woods remind of harms That Tereus in them did your charms." "Alas!" replied the bird of song, "The thought of that so cruel wrong Makes me, from age to age, Prefer this hermitage; For nothing like the sight of men Can call up what I suffer'd then."

The Camel and the Floating Sticks.

The first who saw the humpback'd camel Fled off for life; the next approach'd with care; The third with tyrant rope did boldly dare The desert wanderer to trammel. Such is the power of use to change The face of objects new and strange; Which grow, by looking at, so tame, They do not even seem the same. And since this theme is up for our attention, A certain watchman I will mention, Who, seeing something far Away upon the ocean, Could not but speak his notion That 'twas a ship of war. Some minutes more had past,-- A bomb-ketch 'twas without a sail, And then a boat, and then a bale, And floating sticks of wood at last!

Full many things on earth, I wot, Will claim this tale,--and well they may; They're something dreadful far away, But near at hand--they're not.