Fables of La Fontaine Part 50

A pool, scoop'd out by Nature's hands, Amidst the desert rocks and sands, Where human traitors never come, Shall save your people from their doom.'

The fish republic swallow'd all, And, coming at the fellow's call, Were singly borne away to stock A pond beneath a lonely rock; And there good prophet cormorant, Proprietor and bailiff sole, From narrow water, clear and shoal, With ease supplied his daily want, And taught them, at their own expense, That heads well stored with common sense Give no devourers confidence.-- Still did the change not hurt their case, Since, had they staid, the human race, Successful by pernicious art, Would have consumed as large a part.

What matters who your flesh devours, Of human or of b.e.s.t.i.a.l powers?

In this respect, or wild or tame, All stomachs seem to me the same: The odds is small, in point of sorrow, Of death to-day, or death to-morrow.

[8] Bidpaii.

V.--THE BURIER AND HIS COMRADE.[9]

A close-fist had his money h.o.a.rded Beyond the room his till afforded.

His avarice aye growing ranker, (Whereby his mind of course grew blanker,) He was perplex'd to choose a banker; For banker he must have, he thought, Or all his heap would come to nought.

'I fear,' said he, 'if kept at home, And other robbers should not come, It might be equal cause of grief That I had proved myself the thief.'

The thief! Is to enjoy one's pelf To rob or steal it from one's self?

My friend, could but my pity reach you, This lesson I would gladly teach you, That wealth is weal no longer than Diffuse and part with it you can: Without that power, it is a woe.

Would you for age keep back its flow?

Age buried 'neath its joyless snow?

With pains of getting, care of got Consumes the value, every jot, Of gold that one can never spare.

To take the load of such a care, a.s.sistants were not very rare.

The earth was that which pleased him best.

Dismissing thought of all the rest, He with his friend, his trustiest,-- A sort of shovel-secretary,-- Went forth his h.o.a.rd to bury.

Safe done, a few days afterward, The man must look beneath the sward-- When, what a mystery! behold The mine exhausted of its gold!

Suspecting, with the best of cause, His friend was privy to his loss, He bade him, in a cautious mood, To come as soon as well he could, For still some other coins he had, Which to the rest he wish'd to add.

Expecting thus to get the whole, The friend put back the sum he stole, Then came with all despatch.

The other proved an overmatch: Resolved at length to save by spending, His practice thus most wisely mending, The total treasure home he carried-- No longer h.o.a.rded it or buried.

Chapfallen was the thief, when gone He saw his prospects and his p.a.w.n.

From this it may be stated, That knaves with ease are cheated.

[9] Abstemius.

VI.--THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERDS.[10]

A Wolf, replete With humanity sweet, (A trait not much suspected,) On his cruel deeds, The fruit of his needs, Profoundly thus reflected.

'I'm hated,' said he, 'As joint enemy, By hunters, dogs, and clowns.

They swear I shall die, And their hue and cry The very thunder drowns.

'My brethren have fled, With price on the head, From England's merry land.

King Edgar came out, And put them to rout,[11]

With many a deadly band.

'And there's not a squire But blows up the fire By hostile proclamation; Nor a human brat, Dares cry, but that Its mother mocks my nation.

'And all for what?

For a sheep with the rot, Or scabby, mangy a.s.s, Or some snarling cur, With less meat than fur, On which I've broken fast!

'Well, henceforth I'll strive That nothing alive Shall die to quench my thirst; No lambkin shall fall, Nor puppy, at all, To glut my maw accurst.

With gra.s.s I'll appease, Or browse on the trees, Or die of famine first.

'What of carca.s.s warm?

Is it worth the storm Of universal hate?'

As he spoke these words, The lords of the herds, All seated at their bait, He saw; and observed The meat which was served Was nought but roasted lamb!

'O! O!' said the beast, 'Repent of my feast-- All butcher as I am-- On these vermin mean, Whose guardians e'en Eat at a rate quadruple!-- Themselves and their dogs, As greedy as hogs, And I, a wolf, to scruple!'

'Look out for your wool I'll not be a fool, The very pet I'll eat; The lamb the best-looking, Without any cooking, I'll strangle from the teat; And swallow the dam, As well as the lamb, And stop her foolish bleat.

Old Hornie, too,--rot him,-- The sire that begot him Shall be among my meat!'

Well-reasoning beast!

Were we sent to feast On creatures wild and tame?

And shall we reduce The beasts to the use Of vegetable game?

Shall animals not Have flesh-hook or pot, As in the age of gold?

And we claim the right, In the pride of our might, Themselves to have and hold?

O shepherds, that keep Your folds full of sheep, The wolf was only wrong, Because, so to speak, His jaws were too weak To break your palings strong.

[10] Founded upon one of Philibert Hegemon's Fables.

[11] _King Edgar put them to rout._--The English king Edgar (reigned 959-75) took great pains in hunting and pursuing wolves; "and," says Hume, "when he found that all that escaped him had taken shelter in the mountains and forests of Wales, he changed the tribute of money imposed on the Welsh princes by Athelstan, his predecessor, into an annual tribute of three hundred heads of wolves; which produced such diligence in hunting them, that the animal has been no more seen in this island."--Hume's _England_, vol. i., p. 99, Bell's edit., 1854.

VII.--THE SPIDER AND THE SWALLOW.[12]

'O Jupiter, whose fruitful brain, By odd obstetrics freed from pain, Bore Pallas,[13] erst my mortal foe,[14]

Pray listen to my tale of woe.

This Progne[15] takes my lawful prey.

As through the air she cuts her way, And skims the waves in seeming play.

My flies she catches from my door,-- 'Yes, _mine_--I emphasize the word,-- And, but for this accursed bird, My net would hold an ample store: For I have woven it of stuff To hold the strongest strong enough.'

'Twas thus, in terms of insolence, Complain'd the fretful spider, once Of palace-tapestry a weaver, But then a spinster and deceiver, That hoped within her toils to bring Of insects all that ply the wing.

The sister swift of Philomel, Intent on business, prosper'd well; In spite of the complaining pest, The insects carried to her nest-- Nest pitiless to suffering flies-- Mouths gaping aye, to gormandize, Of young ones clamouring, And stammering, With unintelligible cries.

The spider, with but head and feet.

And powerless to compete With wings so fleet, Soon saw herself a prey.

The swallow, pa.s.sing swiftly by, Bore web and all away, The spinster dangling in the sky!

Two tables hath our Maker set For all that in this world are met.

To seats around the first The skilful, vigilant, and strong are beckon'd: Their hunger and their thirst The rest must quell with leavings at the second.

[12] Abstemius.

[13] _Pallas_.--An allusion to the birth of Pallas, or Minerva--grown and armed--from the brain of Jove.

[14] _Mortal foe_.--Arachne (whence the spider (_aranea_) has its name) was a woman of Colopho who challenged Pallas to a trial of skill in needlework, and, being defeated, hanged herself. She was changed into a spider: _vide_ Ovid, _Metam._, Book VI., &c.

[15] _Progne_.--The sister of Philomela, turned into a swallow, as mentioned in note to Fable XV., Book III.