Fables of La Fontaine Part 52

Which did the bird no little honour, since The boy, by king begotten, was a prince.

By nature fond of birds, the prince, too, petted A sparrow, which delightfully coquetted.

These rivals, both of unripe feather, One day were frolicking together: As oft befalls such little folks, A quarrel follow'd from their jokes.

The sparrow, quite uncirc.u.mspect, Was by the parrot sadly peck'd; With drooping wing and b.l.o.o.d.y head, His master pick'd him up for dead, And, being quite too wroth to bear it, In heat of pa.s.sion kill'd his parrot.

When this sad piece of news he heard, Distracted was the parent bird.

His piercing cries bespoke his pain; But cries and tears were all in vain.

The talking bird had left the sh.o.r.e;[20]

In short, he, talking now no more, Caused such a rage to seize his sire, That, lighting on the prince in ire, He put out both his eyes, And fled for safety as was wise.

The bird a pine for refuge chose, And to its lofty summit rose; There, in the bosom of the skies, Enjoy'd his vengeance sweet, And scorn'd the wrath beneath his feet.

Out ran the king, and cried, in soothing tone, 'Return, dear friend; what serves it to bemoan?

Hate, vengeance, mourning, let us both omit.

For me, it is no more than fit To own, though with an aching heart, The wrong is wholly on our part.

Th' aggressor truly was my son-- My son? no; but by Fate the deed was done.

Ere birth of Time, stern Destiny Had written down the sad decree, That by this sad calamity Your child should cease to live, and mine to see.

'Let both, then, cease to mourn; And you, back to your cage return.'

'Sire king,' replied the bird, 'Think you that, after such a deed, I ought to trust your word?

You speak of Fate; by such a heathen creed Hope you that I shall be enticed to bleed?

But whether Fate or Providence divine Gives law to things below, 'Tis writ on high, that on this waving pine, Or where wild forests grow, My days I finish, safely, far From that which ought your love to mar, And turn it all to hate.

Revenge, I know, 's a kingly morsel, And ever hath been part and parcel Of this your G.o.dlike state.

You would forget the cause of grief; Suppose I grant you my belief,-- 'Tis better still to make it true, By keeping out of sight of you.

Sire king, my friend, no longer wait For friendship to be heal'd;....

But absence is the cure of hate, As 'tis from love the shield.'

[19] Bidpaii. In Knatchbull's English edition the fable is t.i.tled "The King and the Bird, or the emblem of revengeful persons who are unworthy of trust." It is also in the Lokman collection.

[20] _The talking bird_, &c.--"Stygia natabat jam frigida cymba."--VIRG.--Translator.

XIII.--THE LIONESS AND THE BEAR.

The lioness had lost her young; A hunter stole it from the vale; The forests and the mountains rung Responsive to her hideous wail.

Nor night, nor charms of sweet repose, Could still the loud lament that rose From that grim forest queen.

No animal, as you might think, With such a noise could sleep a wink.

A bear presumed to intervene.

'One word, sweet friend,' quoth she, 'And that is all, from me.

The young that through your teeth have pa.s.s'd, In file unbroken by a fast, Had they nor dam nor sire?'

'They had them both.' 'Then I desire, Since all their deaths caused no such grievous riot, While mothers died of grief beneath your fiat, To know why you yourself cannot be quiet?'

'I quiet!--I!--a wretch bereaved!

My only son!--such anguish be relieved!

No, never! All for me below Is but a life of tears and woe!'-- 'But say, why doom yourself to sorrow so?'-- 'Alas! 'tis Destiny that is my foe.'

Such language, since the mortal fall, Has fallen from the lips of all.

Ye human wretches, give your heed; For your complaints there's little need.

Let him who thinks his own the hardest case, Some widowed, childless Hecuba behold, Herself to toil and shame of slavery sold, And he will own the wealth of heavenly grace.

XIV.--THE TWO ADVENTURERS AND THE TALISMAN.[21]

No flowery path to glory leads.

This truth no better voucher needs Than Hercules, of mighty deeds.

Few demiG.o.ds, the tomes of fable Reveal to us as being able Such weight of task-work to endure: In history, I find still fewer.

One such, however, here behold-- A knight by talisman made bold, Within the regions of romance, To seek adventures with the lance.

There rode a comrade at his ride, And as they rode they both espied This writing on a post:-- "Wouldst see, sir valiant knight, A thing whereof the sight No errant yet can boast?

Thou hast this torrent but to ford, And, lifting up, alone, The elephant of stone Upon its margin sh.o.r.ed, Upbear it to the mountain's brow, Round which, aloft before thee now, The misty chaplets wreathe-- Not stopping once to breathe."

One knight, whose nostrils bled, Betokening courage fled, Cried out, 'What if that current's sweep Not only rapid be, but deep!

And grant it cross'd,--pray, why enc.u.mber One's arms with that unwieldy lumber, An elephant of stone?

Perhaps the artist may have done His work in such a way, that one Might lug it twice its length; But then to reach yon mountain top, And that without a breathing stop, Were surely past a mortal's strength-- Unless, indeed, it be no bigger Than some wee, pigmy, dwarfish figure, Which one would head a cane withal;-- And if to this the case should fall, The adventurer's honour would be small!

This posting seems to me a trap, Or riddle for some greenish chap; I therefore leave the whole to you.'

The doubtful reasoner onward hies.

With heart resolved, in spite of eyes, The other boldly dashes through; Nor depth of flood nor force Can stop his onward course.

He finds the elephant of stone; He lifts it all alone; Without a breathing stop, He bears it to the top Of that steep mount, and seeth there A high-wall'd city, great and fair.

Out-cried the elephant--and hush'd; But forth in arms the people rush'd.

A knight less bold had surely fled; But he, so far from turning back, His course right onward sped, Resolved himself to make attack, And die but with the bravest dead.

Amazed was he to hear that band Proclaim him monarch of their land, And welcome him, in place of one Whose death had left a vacant throne!

In sooth, he lent a gracious ear, Meanwhile expressing modest fear, Lest such a load of royal care Should be too great for him to bear.

And so, exactly, Sixtus[22] said, When first the pope's tiara press'd his head; (Though, is it such a grievous thing To be a pope, or be a king?) But days were few before they read it, That with but little truth he said it.

Blind Fortune follows daring blind.

Oft executes the wisest man, Ere yet the wisdom of his mind Is task'd his means or end to scan.

[21] Bidpaii; also in Lokman.

[22] _Sixtus_.--Pope Sixtus V., who simulated decrepitude to get elected to the Papal chair, and when elected threw off all disguise and ruled despotically.

XV.--THE RABBITS.[23]

An Address To The Duke De La Rochefoucauld.[24]

While watching man in all his phases, And seeing that, in many cases, He acts just like the brute creation,-- I've thought the lord of all these races Of no less failings show'd the traces Than do his lieges in relation; And that, in making it, Dame Nature Hath put a spice in every creature From off the self-same spirit-stuff-- Not from the immaterial, But what we call ethereal, Refined from matter rough.

An ill.u.s.tration please to hear.

Just on the still frontier Of either day or night,-- Or when the lord of light Reclines his radiant head Upon his watery bed, Or when he dons the gear, To drive a new career,-- While yet with doubtful sway The hour is ruled 'twixt night and day,-- Some border forest-tree I climb; And, acting Jove, from height sublime My fatal bolt at will directing, I kill some rabbit unsuspecting.

The rest that frolick'd on the heath, Or browsed the thyme with dainty teeth, With open eye and watchful ear, Behold, all scampering from beneath, Instinct with mortal fear.

All, frighten'd simply by the sound, Hie to their city underground.

But soon the danger is forgot, And just as soon the fear lives not: The rabbits, gayer than before, I see beneath my hand once more!

Are not mankind well pictured here?

By storms asunder driven, They scarcely reach their haven, And cast their anchor, ere They tempt the same dread shocks Of tempests, waves, and rocks.

True rabbits, back they frisk To meet the self-same risk!

I add another common case.

When dogs pa.s.s through a place Beyond their customary bounds, And meet with others, curs or hounds, Imagine what a holiday!

The native dogs, whose interests centre In one great organ, term'd the venter, The strangers rush at, bite, and bay; With cynic pertness tease and worry, And chase them off their territory.

So, too, do men. Wealth, grandeur, glory, To men of office or profession, Of every sort, in every nation, As tempting are, and sweet, As is to dogs the refuse meat.