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VI.--THE OLD WOMAN AND HER TWO SERVANTS.[9]
A beldam kept two spinning maids, Who plied so handily their trades, Those spinning sisters down below Were bunglers when compared with these.
No care did this old woman know But giving tasks as she might please.
No sooner did the G.o.d of day His glorious locks enkindle, Than both the wheels began to play, And from each whirling spindle Forth danced the thread right merrily, And back was coil'd unceasingly.
Soon as the dawn, I say, its tresses show'd, A graceless c.o.c.k most punctual crow'd.
The beldam roused, more graceless yet, In greasy petticoat bedight, Struck up her farthing light, And then forthwith the bed beset, Where deeply, blessedly did snore Those two maid-servants tired and poor.
One oped an eye, an arm one stretch'd, And both their breath most sadly fetch'd, This threat concealing in the sigh-- 'That cursed c.o.c.k shall surely die!'
And so he did:--they cut his throat, And put to sleep his rousing note.
And yet this murder mended not The cruel hardship of their lot; For now the twain were scarce in bed Before they heard the summons dread.
The beldam, full of apprehension Lest oversleep should cause detention, Ran like a goblin through her mansion.
Thus often, when one thinks To clear himself from ill, His effort only sinks Him in the deeper still.
The beldam, acting for the c.o.c.k, Was Scylla for Charybdis' rock.
[9] Aesop.
VII.--THE SATYR AND THE TRAVELLER.[10]
Within a savage forest grot A satyr and his chips Were taking down their porridge hot; Their cups were at their lips.
You might have seen in mossy den, Himself, his wife, and brood; They had not tailor-clothes, like men, But appet.i.tes as good.
In came a traveller, benighted, All hungry, cold, and wet, Who heard himself to eat invited With nothing like regret.
He did not give his host the pain His asking to repeat; But first he blew with might and main To give his fingers heat.
Then in his steaming porridge dish He delicately blew.
The wondering satyr said, 'I wish The use of both I knew.'
'Why, first, my blowing warms my hand, And then it cools my porridge.'
'Ah!' said his host, 'then understand I cannot give you storage.
'To sleep beneath one roof with you, I may not be so bold.
Far be from me that mouth untrue Which blows both hot and cold.'
[10] Aesop.
VIII.--THE HORSE AND THE WOLF.[11]
A wolf, what time the thawing breeze Renews the life of plants and trees, And beasts go forth from winter lair To seek abroad their various fare,-- A wolf, I say, about those 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, As if a healer of disease,-- Some pupil of Hippocrates,-- And told the horse, with learned verbs, He knew the power of roots and herbs,-- Whatever grew about those borders,-- And not at all to flatter Himself in such a matter, 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; Which n.o.ble art, the fact is, For horses of the blood I practise.'
The fellow, with this talk sublime, Watch'd for a snap the fitting time.
Meanwhile, suspicious of some trick, The wary 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.'
[11] Aesop; also in Faerno.
IX.--THE PLOUGHMAN AND HIS SONS.[12]
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.
[12] Aesop.
X.--THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOUR.[13]
A mountain was in travail pang; The country with her clamour rang.
Out ran the people all, to see, Supposing that the birth would be A city, or at least a house.
It was a mouse!
In thinking of this fable, Of story feign'd and false, But meaning veritable, My mind the image calls Of one who writes, "The war I sing Which t.i.tans waged against the Thunder-king."[14]
As on the sounding verses ring, What will be brought to birth?
Why, dearth.
[13] Phaedrus, IV. 22.
[14] _The War, &c._--The war of the G.o.ds and t.i.tans (sons of Heaven and Earth); _vide_ Hesiod, _Theogony_, I. 1083, Bohn's ed.
XI.--FORTUNE AND THE BOY.[15]
Beside a well, uncurb'd and deep, A schoolboy laid him down to sleep: (Such rogues can do so anywhere.) If some kind man had seen him there, He would have leap'd as if distracted; But Fortune much more wisely acted; For, pa.s.sing by, she softly waked the child, Thus whispering in accents mild: 'I save your life, my little dear, And beg you not to venture here Again, for had you fallen in, I should have had to bear the sin; But I demand, in reason's name, If for your rashness I'm to blame?'
With this the G.o.ddess went her way.