Fables of La Fontaine Part 10

[14] Aesop.

IX.--THE LION AND THE GNAT.[15]

'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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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.

Now rings his trumpet clang, As at the charge it rang.

But while his triumph note he blows, Straight on our valiant conqueror goes A spider's ambuscade to meet, And make its web his winding-sheet.

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

[15] Aesop.

X.--THE a.s.s LOADED WITH SPONGES, AND THE a.s.s LOADED WITH SALT.[16]

A man, whom I shall call an a.s.s-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 pa.s.s'd, Till, coming to a river's ford at last, They stopp'd quite puzzled on the sh.o.r.e.

Our a.s.seteer 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: a.s.seteer and a.s.s For boon companions of their load might pa.s.s; Which last became so sore a weight, The a.s.s 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.

[16] Aesop.

XI.--THE LION AND THE RAT.[17]

To show to all your kindness, it behoves: There's none so small but you his aid may need.

I quote two fables for this weighty creed, Which either of them fully proves.

From underneath the sward A rat, quite off his guard, Popp'd out between a lion's paws.

The beast of royal bearing Show'd what a lion was The creature's life by sparing-- A kindness well repaid; For, little as you would have thought His majesty would ever need his aid, It proved full soon A precious boon.

Forth issuing from his forest glen, T' explore the haunts of men, In lion net his majesty was caught, From which his strength and rage Served not to disengage.

The rat ran up, with grateful glee, Gnaw'd off a rope, and set him free.

By time and toil we sever What strength and rage could never.

[17] Aesop. In the original editions of La Fontaine's Fables, XI. and XII. are printed together, and headed "Fables XI. et XII."

XII.--THE DOVE AND THE ANT.[18]

The same instruction we may get From another couple, smaller yet.

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 gra.s.s to throw her, By which the ant regain'd the sh.o.r.e.

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.

[18] Aesop.

XIII.--THE ASTROLOGER WHO STUMBLED INTO A WELL.[19]

To an astrologer who fell Plump to the bottom of a well, 'Poor blockhead!' cried a pa.s.ser-by, 'Not see your feet, and read the sky?'

This upshot of a story will suffice To give a useful hint to most; For few there are in this our world so wise As not to trust in star or ghost, Or cherish secretly the creed That men the book of destiny may read.

This book, by Homer and his pupils sung, What is it, in plain common sense, But what was chance those ancient folks among, And with ourselves, G.o.d's providence?

Now chance doth bid defiance To every thing like science; 'Twere wrong, if not, To call it hazard, fortune, lot-- Things palpably uncertain.

But from the purposes divine, The deep of infinite design, Who boasts to lift the curtain?

Whom but himself doth G.o.d allow To read his bosom thoughts? and how Would he imprint upon the stars sublime The shrouded secrets of the night of time?

And all for what? To exercise the wit Of those who on astrology have writ?

To help us shun inevitable ills?

To poison for us even pleasure's rills?

The choicest blessings to destroy, Exhausting, ere they come, their joy?

Such faith is worse than error--'tis a crime.

The sky-host moves and marks the course of time; The sun sheds on our nicely-measured days The glory of his night-dispelling rays; And all from this we can divine Is, that they need to rise and shine,-- To roll the seasons, ripen fruits, And cheer the hearts of men and brutes.

How tallies this revolving universe With human things, eternally diverse?

Ye horoscopers, waning quacks, Please turn on Europe's courts your backs, And, taking on your travelling lists The bellows-blowing alchemists, Budge off together to the land of mists.

But I've digress'd. Return we now, bethinking Of our poor star-man, whom we left a drinking.

Besides the folly of his lying trade, This man the type may well be made Of those who at chimeras stare When they should mind the things that are.

[19] Aesop. Diogenes Laertius tells the story of this fable of Thales of Miletus. "It is said that once he (Thales) was led out of his house by an old woman for the purpose of observing the stars, and he fell into a ditch and bewailed himself. On which the old woman said to him--'Do you, O Thales, who cannot see what is under your feet, think that thou shalt understand what is in heaven?'"--_Diogenes Laertius, Bohn's edition._