Literary Fables of Yriarte Part 7

Something harder I must work.

What then? I will not shirk; 'T isn't turning the old spit.

I shall better rations earn, And more respect compel."-- Here the laborer at the well Interrupted, in his turn.

"To the spit and kitchen fire I advise you to go back.

A turnspit strength would lack For the task to which you aspire."

Now hear the Mule sagacious!

Wisely, sure, he counsels thus; And one Horatius Flaccus This same matter does discuss.

How idly doth an author yearn To undertake, where he must fail!

The little Dog cannot avail The huge well-wheel to turn.

FABLE x.x.x.

THE AUTHOR AND THE RAT.

In study of a scholar, sage and mellow, There dwelt a Rat,--a devil of a fellow,-- Who on naught else his hunger would a.s.suage But prose and verse of many a learned page.

In vain the Cat watched for him night and day; Her paws she ne'er could put upon a whisker.

Of cunning traps no shrewd device, No a.r.s.enic hid in sweet confection, Nor any other bait or mixture, Ever prepared for rats or mice, For learned scrolls could cure his predilection; But with whole pages nightly he made way.

The rascal gnawed, moreover, nothing less, What our poor Author furnished to the presses,-- His works of eloquence and poesy.

And, as the ma.n.u.scripts the accursed beast Had eaten once before, made he Of printed page still more luxurious feast.

"Ah, what hard luck is mine!" the Author cried.

"I've had enough of writing for these gnawers.

Since all experiments in vain I've tried, Blank paper now I'll keep within my drawers,-- And nothing else. This mischief must be stayed."

But, lo! too faithful to his wasteful trade, In pure white paper, without stop or stint, As heretofore with ma.n.u.script and print, The villanous vermin like destruction made.

At his wit's end, as last resort, Into his ink he pours, in copious dose, Corrosive sublimate, and writes Something; I know not whether verse or prose.

'Tis eaten by the animal perverse, And quickly ends his sport.

"Happy receipt which mischief sure requites!"

Sarcastic said the Poet, thus relieved.

"Let him, who gnaws too freely, have a care Lest his malicious insult prove a snare; And the impatient wight he seeks to bait, Should write him in corrosive sublimate."

Be moderate, critic,--for unjust abuse Severe retaliation will excuse; Silence to keep, beneath invective froward, Argues an author either dunce or coward.

FABLE x.x.xI.

THE SQUIRREL AND THE HORSE.

A Steed,--a n.o.ble sorrel,-- Docile to spur and rein, Before a little Squirrel Went dashing round a plain.

Watching awhile his motions, So swift, yet regular, The Squirrel brisk bespeaks him As follows: "My dear sir, No great merit All this deftness, Grace and lightness-- Such I've often seen before.

With equal spirit, Just such gambols I can do, and even more.

I am sprightly, I am active; Always lightly Moving round, From ground to tree, And tree to ground, I am never quiet found."

Checking his pace a moment, The good colt his gallop stayed, And in grave tone, as follows, To the Squirrel answer made: "Comings and goings, Turns and twists, Idle freaks, Heed who lists.

All this no useful purpose speaks.

Not so futile My endeavor, In my duty Faithful ever.

My master to serve, I strain every nerve To be always prompt and clever."

On puerile trifles of the day, Some time and talents throw away; And thus the Squirrel's part they play.

FABLE x.x.xII.

THE FOX AND THE LADY.

A famous gallant, of Parisian renown, A Fop of the most extravagant taste, Who silver and gold like water would waste, With a new suit each day to dazzle the town,-- On the festival day of his lady love placed On his shoes two paltry buckles of tin; In order to show, by this frivolous whim, That he courted not fame, but that fame courted him.

"What beautiful silver, so brilliant and gay!"

Said the lady. "Huzza for the taste and the rule Of the master of fashion, the pride of our day!"

Thus a volume of nonsense, or, I am a fool, The world will devour, if subscribed with the name Of a popular author, established in fame.

FABLE x.x.xIII.

THE OSTRICH, THE DROMEDARY, AND THE FOX.

A party of beasts a.s.sembled for pleasure,-- For beasts, like mankind, thus diversify leisure,-- With a thousand discussions of this and of that, Were whiling the time in a sociable chat.

Of the different qualities, now they conversed, That each animal marked; some among them rehea.r.s.ed The deserts of the Ant, of the Hound so sagacious; While some praised the Bee, some the Parrot loquacious.

"True, true," said the Ostrich; "but 'tis clear to me,--very, That no beast surpa.s.ses my friend Dromedary."

"For my part," said Dromedary, "I must declare That I think we can none with the Ostrich compare."