LITERARY FABLES
OF
YRIARTE.
(Tomás de Iriarte y Oropesa)
TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH,
BY
GEO. H. DEVEREUX.
BOSTON:
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
MDCCCLV.
TO
THE CLASS OF 1829
I DEDICATE
THIS UNPRETENDING RESULT OF SOME LEISURE HOURS.
I do not flatter myself that it will make any conspicuous addition to
the worthy achievements that have already graced our roll with names
that rank high in the lists of Science, Philosophy and Literature. But
it is pleasant to me to connect this translation of a college
text-book--used by us all, long ago, within the walls of old
Harvard--with the memory of youthful pursuits that have never lost their
charm for the mind, and early associations that retain, with all their
original freshness and geniality, their hold upon the heart.
PREFACE.
The Fable has always been a popular mode of conveying certain kinds of
instruction. The brief and simple illustrations it affords give
additional weight and point to moral apothegms or sententious
criticisms. Like the feather on the shaft, they serve to increase the
force and direct the aim more certainly to the mark. A pertinent fact or
an apt fiction breathes, even into a dry and curt axiom, a living and
practical interest which opens to it hearts and heads that would
otherwise pass it by with indifference, or revolt from it with
impatience. Many of these unpretending allegories have been familiar to
us all, in childhood, in a great variety of dresses, and have long
formed a standard part of our literature--congenial alike to nursery
days and to mature age.
The fables contained in the little collection here translated are not,
with one or two exceptions, found among the widely popular and familiar
fables to which we have alluded. They were written in a foreign tongue,
less generally understood, among us, than some other of the European
languages; and they are designed for a special and somewhat abstruse
purpose. Both these circumstances tend to narrow their sphere of
circulation; and we presume that they form a book little known to most
English readers.
If we do not err in our estimate of them, the Literary Fables of Don
Thomas De Yriarte are well worthy of perusal. They are aptly and
ingeniously adapted to the truths they seek to inculcate; and they are
remarkable for a terse simplicity of form and style, well suited to the
objects and character of such productions. The maxims and criticisms
they enforce must approve themselves to the mind, both of the professed
scholar and the general reader.
The author was born in Teneriffe, A.D. 1750, but was educated and
resided at Madrid, where he died in 1791, at the early age, of course,
of forty-one years. His uncle, Don Juan De Yriarte, was the chief
superintendent of the royal library; and the nephew was educated under
his auspices. In his eighteenth year, he commenced his literary career
by the writing of dramas, and the translation of plays from the French
for the Spanish stage. He spent his life in the duties of sundry offices
under the government; yet he very soon assumed and maintained a high
consideration as a scholar and writer. His works, however, were of a
character to command but little interest from posterity, with the
exception of the fables translated in this little volume.
Of them, Professor Ticknor, from whose learned work on Spanish
literature we have collected these details, speaks as follows:--
"Here, he, in some degree, struck out a new path; for he not only
invented all his fictions, which no other fabulist, in modern times,
had done, but restricted them all, in their moral purpose, to the
correction of the faults and follies of men of learning--an application
which had not before been thought of. They are written with great care,
in no less than forty different measures, and show an extraordinary
degree of ingenuity in adapting the attributes and instincts of animals
to the instruction, not of mankind at large, as had always been done
before, but to that of a separate and small class, between whom and the
inferior creation the resemblance is rarely obvious. The task was
certainly a difficult one. Perhaps, on this account, they are too
narrative in their structure, and fail somewhat in the genial spirit
which distinguishes Esop and La Fontaine, the greatest masters of
Apologue and Fable. But their influence was so needed in the age of bad
writing when they appeared, and they are, besides, so graceful in their
versification, that they were not only received with great favor at
first, but have never lost it since."--_Ticknor's Hist, of Span.
Literature_, vol. iii., p. 279.
We have endeavored to discharge with fidelity the duty of translation;
attempting to preserve the form and spirit of the author, as far as was
consistent with giving the work an English dress. With this view, we
have aimed to produce a literal and characteristic reflection of the
original rather than an expanded and highly-wrought paraphrase. Where we
could do so, we have sought to preserve the metre, or a nearly analogous
one, in order, if possible, to give a clear idea of the Spanish work to
the English reader. But this is not practicable in all cases. The
peculiar construction of Spanish rhymes, together with the obstinacy
with which some words and sentences refuse the stern yoke of our English
rules, render the task, always hard, sometimes impossible. The terminal
inflections of the Spanish language and its accentuation are widely
different from those of the Anglo-Saxon; and so axe the arbitrary
arrangements of the rhythm, which are, in the latter, far more exacting
and precise. The professed scholar will recognize and make due allowance
for such obstacles. To the public at large we shall hope our little book
may convey some instruction and amusement, in a palatable shape. If so,
it may give, to a novel class of subjects, somewhat of the well-known
interest inspired by the graceful and popular fictions of Esop, Gay and
La Fontaine.
G.H.D.
_Salem, October 25th_, 1854.
CONTENTS
THE ELEPHANT AND OTHER ANIMALS
THE SILKWORM AND SPIDER
THE BEAR, THE MONKEY AND THE HOG
THE DRONES AND THE BEE
THE TWO PARROTS AND THE MAGPIE
THE SHOWMAN'S MONKEY AND HIS MASTER
THE CATHEDRAL BELL AND THE LITTLE BELL
THE ASS AND THE FLUTE
THE ANT AND THE FLEA
THE WALL-FLOWER AND THE THYME
THE RABBITS AND THE DOGS
THE EGGS
THE DUCK AND THE SNAKE
THE MUFF, THE FAN, AND THE UMBRELLA
THE FROG AND THE TADPOLE
THE BUSTARD
THE LINNET AND THE SWAN
THE HACK MULE
THE GOAT AND THE HORSE
THE BEE AND THE CUCKOO
THE BAT AND THE CAT
THE OWL AND LAMP, AND THE DOGS AND THE RAGMAN
THE THRUSH, PARROT AND MAGPIE
THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERD
THE LION, EAGLE AND BAT
THE MONKEY
THE ASS AND HIS MASTER
THE TURNSPIT AND THE MULE OF THE WELL
THE AUTHOR AND THE RAT
THE SQUIRREL AND THE HORSE
THE FOP AND THE LADY
THE OSTRICH, THE DROMEDARY, AND THE FOX
THE CROW AND THE TURKEY
THE SILKWORM AND THE CATERPILLAR
THE PURCHASE OF THE ASS
THE OX AND THE GRASSHOPPER
THE MACAW AND THE MARMOT
THE PORTRAIT
THE TWO INNS
THE TEA-PLANT AND SAGE
THE CAT, THE LIZARD, AND THE CRICKET
THE CONCERT OF THE BEASTS
THE SWORD AND THE SPIT
THE UNFORTUNATES
THE COCKS
THE MONKEY AND THE MAGPIE
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE SPARROW
THE GARDENER AND HIS MASTER
THE TWO THRUSHES
THE LACE-MAKERS
THE HUNTER AND HIS FERRET
THE PIG, THE COCK AND THE LAMB
THE FLINT AND THE STEEL
THE JUDGE AND THE ROBBER
THE HOUSEMAID AND THE BROOM
THE LIZARDS
THE WATCHES
THE MOLE AND OTHER ANIMALS
THE ROPE-DANGER
THE OWL AND THE TOAD
THE OIL MERCHANT'S ASS
THE CONNOISSEURS
THE FROG AND THE HEN
THE BEETLE
THE RICH MAN'S LIBRARY
THE VIPER AND THE LEECH
INTRODUCTION.
FABLE I.
Long years ago, in far-off land,
When every brute beast had a way,
What he thought and felt, to say
In language all could understand--
The sagacious Elephant observed
Among these creatures many a failing,
And gross abuses, too, prevailing,
Which strenuous reform deserved.
He called them all, from far and near,
His strictures on their ways to hear.
With reverence the most profound
His long proboscis swept the ground;
In careful phrase, well learned by heart,
He then discharged the censor's part--
A thousand silly foibles noted,
A thousand vicious actions quoted;
Envy, working sore vexation,
Ostentatious insolence,
Idleness, procrastination,
The arrogance of ignorance.
His sound and noble counsel stirs
The hearts of many listeners,
Accepting, with due reverence,
The dictates of his generous sense.
The guileless Lamb and thrifty Ant,
The Bee, frugal and provident,
The trusty Setter, and the Dove,
Ever faithful to her love,
The obedient Horse, the Linnet shy,
And the simple Butterfly.
But, of the audience, a part not small
Declared that their offended pride
Such language plain could not abide;
Not they--no, not at all.
The Tiger and rapacious Wolf,
Opening their lank jaws' bloody gulf,
Against the adviser rave;
His vile abuse, among the crowd,
The venomous Serpent hissed aloud;
While, all around, the whispering tone
Of Wasp and Hornet, Fly and Drone,
A murmuring echo gave.
The mischievous Balm-cricket leapt
From the tumultuous throng;
The Locust spread his clanging wing,
His greedy conscience felt the sting;
The wriggling Caterpillar crept
His sneaking way along;
The Weasel arched his spiteful back;
The Fox kept silence shrewd;
The Monkey, sauciest of the pack,
Mocked, with grimaces rude.
The stately Elephant looked down
Upon the vexed turmoil:
"To each and all and yet to none,"--
Spake his calm voice above the broil,--
"These censures I apply;
Let him who winces put them on;
Who not, hear quietly."
* * * * *
Whoever may my fables read,
This truth important let him heed:
That to all nations--not to any one--
And to all times, they speak.
The world has shown alike
The faults at which they strike
In each revolving week.
Then--since the warning finger
Points at no destined head--
Who feels the censure linger
Must sup on his own bread.
FABLE II.
THE SILKWORM AND SPIDER.
At his cocoon a busy Silkworm labored;
A Spider, who with all her might was spinning
Hard by, with laugh malicious, thus bespoke him.
In silly exultation tasks comparing:
"What think you of my web, good Master Silkworm?
This very morning I began it, early,
And now, mid-day will see the job completed.
Just see how fine and beautiful it is, too!"
Coolly replied the precious fabric's workman:
"'T is true--your labor tells us its own story."
* * * * *
Let those who boast their numerous vapid volumes,
Know that 'tis quality, not bulk, that's precious.
What costs small labor is of smaller value.
FABLE III.
THE BEAR, THE MONKEY AND THE HOG.
A Piedmontese a Bear had taught
Upon two legs the art of dancing;
To earn their bread, the master sought,
By showing off his awkward prancing.
Now, Bruin, anxious to excel,
Before the Monkey showed his skill.
"How do I dance, friend? Prithee tell."
"Ill," said the Monkey, "very ill."
"I am afraid you look on me,"
Said Bruin, "with a jealous eye.
Now, that I move quite gracefully,
And know the step, can you deny?"
A jolly Pig was standing by,
And shouted,--"Bravo! nobly done!
A better dancer, sure am I,
Was never seen beneath the sun."
He spoke. But Bruin thoughtful stood,
And soberly the grunter eyed;
At last, in sad and humble mood,
To his loud praise he thus replied:
"When Monkey did my dancing slight
I did not much the censure heed;
But now I see, by your delight,
It must be miserable, indeed."
* * * * *
Authors, who seek a noble fame,
Mark well the moral of my verse!
That's bad which worthy judges blame;
What bad applaud, is worse.
FABLE IV.
THE DRONES AND THE BEE.
By a sense of their bad reputation molested,
The Drones in grave council assembled one day;
And various measures each idler suggested,
To wash of their sloth the sad stigma away.
No other expedient well could they see,
In the eyes of all animals better to stand--
Though lazy and stupid as well they could be--
Than to try, at the making of honey, their hand.
But the labor proved very distasteful, indeed;
The workmen, a rude, inexperienced crew;
They began to be doubtful if they should succeed
Very well in attaining the object in view.
To get rid of their trouble they fain would contrive,
By interring in state an old Bee that had died--
A notable Bee of a neighboring hive,
Of all her companions the model and pride.
With pomp and with honor they lauded her name,
In funeral obsequies, brilliant and grand;
Panegyrics immortal they buzzed to her fame,
For the whitest of wax and honey so bland.
This done, with much self-satisfaction they stop.
But a Bee said in scorn, "Is this all you can do?
Of the honey I make, not one single drop
Would I give for the fuss of your beggarly crew."
* * * * *
How many there are, who their emptiness mask,
By quoting wise words from the lips of the dead!
But with all their pretence, did they ever, I ask,
Produce any such from their own shallow head?
FABLE V.
THE TWO PARROTS AND THE MAGPIE.
A dame from St. Domingo
Brought with her Parrots twain.
Now this island is half Gallic,
Half owns the flag of Spain;
Thus, in two different languages,
The Parrots talked amain,
Till the gallery where their cages hung
Discordant was as Babylon.
Soon the French and the Castilian
They mixed up in such a bother
That, in the end, no soul could tell
If it were one or 't other.
The French Parrot from the Spaniard
Took a contribution small;
While the Spanish bird changed nigh each word
For the idiom of Gaul.
Their mistress parts the babblers--
And the Frenchman kept not long
The phrases he had borrowed
From less fashionable tongue.
The other still refuses
His jargon to give over;
But new merit rather chooses
In this hotchpotch to discover--
Exulting that he thus can vary
The range of his vocabulary.
In mongrel French, one day,
He eagerly begged after
The scrapings of the pot;
With hearty roar of laughter,
From balcony across the way,
A Magpie shouted out
At the folly of the lout.
The Parrot answered pertly,
As with argument conclusive,--
"You are nothing but a Purist,
Of taste foolishly exclusive."--?
"Thanks for the compliment," quoth Magpie, curtly.
* * * * *
Many men, in sooth, there are,
Like the Parrots, everywhere;
With their own language not content,
Would a mongrel tongue invent.
FABLE VI.
THE SHOWMAN'S MONKEY AND HIS MASTER.
That authentic author, Father Valdecebro,--
In his veracious Natural History,
Who exercised his warm imagination,
By spots and marks, each beast minutely painting,
And told, in style so fanciful and turgid,
About the Unicorn astounding marvels,
And to the fabulous Phoenix gave full credence,--
In his eighth book, or ninth,--which I've forgotten,--
Relates the story of a famous Monkey.
The story ran: That it was a Monkey skilful
In thousand tricks, who served a puppet showman:
That thought one day, in absence of his master,
To ask some beasts--his own especial cronies--
To witness all his entertaining juggles.
First he played dead man; then, like Harlequin,
Danced on the rope with somerset and shuffle;
Made desperate leaps, exhibited the sword-dance,
On hands and feet alternate spun in circles;
Last, did the Prussian manual, gun on shoulder.
With these and other tricks he long amused them.
But, better yet than any,--since the evening
Had now set in, nor yet the audience wearied,--
An exhibition with the magic lanthorn
He now would give, as he had seen his master.
When, by preliminary explanation,
He fixed attention,--as is showman's custom,--
Behind the lanthorn being duly stationed,
From side to side he shoved the painted glasses,
Each scene loquaciously, the while, explaining.
The chamber was all darkened, as is usual;
But the spectators strained their eyes attentive
In vain, for none could see the brilliant wonders
Which Monkey was so volubly announcing.
All were perplexed, and soon arose suspicion
That these proceedings were but empty humbug.
The Monkey, most of all, was disconcerted;
When Master Pedro, entering unexpected,
And,--what was going on at once perceiving,--
Half laughing and half angry, said to Monkey,
"What is the use of all your endless gabble,
You fool, if you forget to light your lanthorn?"
* * * * *
Pardon my hint, ye deep and subtile writers,
Who boast to be beyond our comprehensions;
Your brains are dark as the unlighted lanthorn.
FABLE VII.
THE CATHEDRAL BELL AND THE LITTLE BELL.
In a certain cathedral a huge bell there hung,
That only on solemn occasions was rung;
Its echoes majestic, by strokes three or four,
Now and then, in grave cadence, were heard--never more.
For this stately reserve and its wonderful weight,
Throughout the whole parish, its glory was great.
In the district the city held under its sway,
Of a few wretched rustics, a hamlet there lay;
And a poor little church, with a belfry so small,
That you hardly would call it a belfry at all.
There a little cracked cow-bell, that in it was swinging,
For the poor little neighborhood did all the ringing.
Now that this little belfry might ape in renown
The cathedral's huge tower, that loomed up o'er the town;
That briefly and seldom--on festivals noted--
The said little bell should be rung--it was voted.
By this cunning device, in their rustical eyes,
Its tinkle soon passed for a bell of great size.
* * * * *
Of true merit and excellence, many men try,
By grave airs and long faces, the place to supply;
And think that their wisdom is surely inferred
From their seldom vouchsafing to utter a word.
Indeed, it is true, in a general way,
Asses may not be known if they never should bray,
And for a wise animal safely may pass;
If one opens his mouth, then we know he's an ass.
FABLE VIII.
THE ASS AND THE FLUTE.
Be it good or bad,
This little lay
To me occurred to-day,
By chance.
Through a field in our village
A wandering ass
One day did pass,
By chance.
Left by a careless swain,
Forgotten on the ground,
There a flute he found,
By chance.
As he stopped to smell it--
This donkey grave--
A snort he gave,
By chance.
Into the flute his breath
Happened to find its way,
And the flute began to play,
By chance.
"Oho!" said the wise beast,
"How well I can play!
Who will say me nay?
By chance.".
* * * * *
There are donkeys plenty,
Who, without one jot of art,
May, for once, well play a part,
By chance.
FABLE IX.
THE ANT AND THE FLEA.
A curious affectation some put on
Of knowing everything they chance upon.
Whatever matter they may hear or see,
However new or excellent it be,
Of small account and easy always deem it,
And never worthy of their praise esteem it.
This sort of folks I cannot let go by;
But, for their foolish pertness, I shall try,
Sure as I live, to show them up in rhyme,
If I should waste on them a whole day's time.
The Ant was once relating to the Flea
The wholesome lesson of her industry;
How, by her labor, her support she gains;
How builds the ant-hills; with what care and pains
She gathers up the scattered grains for food;
And how all labor for the common good;
With other instances of enterprise,
That might with many pass for idle lies,
If 't were not every day before our eyes.
To all her statements still the Flea demurred,--
Yet could not contradict a single word--
With talk like this: "Ah, yes, undoubtedly;
I grant it; certainly. O, so I see!
'T is plain. I think so, too, myself. Of course.
All right. I understand. There's better and there worse."
With such evasions, patience growing thin,
Ready almost to jump out of her skin,
Unto the Flea she answered,--"Now, my friend,
To go with me, I beg you, condescend.
And since, in such grand fashion, you assume
All this so mighty easy to be done,
Give us yourself, by way of good example,
Of your own great abilities, a sample."
With impudence unmoved, replied the Flea:
"Pooh, nonsense! Think you thus to puzzle me?
Who couldn't, if they chose to try? But, stay,--
I've an engagement now. Another day
We'll think of it,"--and lightly leaped away.
FABLE X.
THE WALL-FLOWER AND THE THYME.
A Wall-flower spoke,--as I have somewhere read,--
A Thyme-plant growing in a neighboring bed,
In the flower language, scornfully addressing:
"Heaven help you, Thyme! 'Tis really distressing!
Though the most fragrant of all plants, I own,
Scarce a hand's breadth above the ground you've grown."
"Dear friend, that I'm of humble height, 'tis true,
But without help I grow. I pity you,
That cannot rise, even a hand's breadth high,
Without a wall to climb by, if you try."
* * * * *
For writers, who, by clinging to the name
Of others, arrogate an author's fame,--
By adding to a work, perchance a note,
Or a short preface,--this response I quote.
FABLE XI.
THE RABBITS AND THE DOGS.
A Rabbit, whom
Two Dogs pursue,
Into the copse
In terror flew.
Out of his burrow,
At the clatter,
A comrade sprung.--
"Friend, what's the matter?"
"The matter? Zounds!
I'm fairly blown;
By villain hounds
I'm hunted down."
"I see them yonder
Through the furze.
But they 're not hounds."--
"What then?"--"They're curs."
"Curs, hey! Then so
Is my grandmother!
You do not know
The one from t' other."
"Stupid! they 're naught
But mongrel cur."--
"They're hounds, I say."--
"They're curs, good sir."
While they dispute
The dogs arrive;
And both of them
Eat up alive.
* * * * *
Ye who, important
Matters scorning,
Toy with trifles,
Take our warning.
FABLE XII.
THE EGGS.
Beyond the sunny Philippines
An island lies, whose name I do not know;
But that's of little consequence, if so
You understand that there they had no hens;
Till, by a happy chance, a traveller,
After a while, carried some poultry there.
Fast they increased as any one could wish;
Until fresh eggs became the common dish.
But all the natives ate them boiled,--they say,--
Because the stranger taught no other way.
At last the experiment by one was tried--
Sagacious man!--of having his eggs fried.
And, O! what boundless honors, for his pains,
His fruitful and inventive fancy gains!
Another, now, to have them baked devised,--
Most happy thought!--and still another, spiced.
Who ever thought eggs were so delicate!
Next, some one gave his friends an omelette:
"Ah!" all exclaimed, "what an ingenious feat!"
But scarce a year went by, an artiste shouts,
"I have it now,--ye 're all a pack of louts!--
With nice tomatoes all my eggs are stewed."
And the whole island thought the mode so good,
That they would so have cooked them to this day,
But that a stranger, wandering out that way,
Another dish the gaping natives taught,
And showed them eggs cooked _à la Huguenot_.
Successive cooks thus proved their skill diverse;
But how shall I be able to rehearse
All of the new, delicious condiments
That luxury, from time to time, invents?
Soft, hard and dropped; and now with sugar sweet,
And now boiled up with milk, the eggs they eat;
In sherbet, in preserves; at last they tickle
Their palates fanciful with eggs in pickle.
All had their day--the last was still the best.
But a grave senior thus, one day, addressed
The epicures: "Boast, ninnies, if you will,
These countless prodigies of gastric skill--
But blessings on the man who brought the hens!"
* * * * *
Beyond the sunny Philippines
Our crowd of modern authors need not go
New-fangled modes of cooking eggs to show.
FABLE XIII.
THE DUCK AND THE SNAKE.
On the borders of a pond
Stood a Duck, discoursing thus:
"Nature to me is generous
All creatures else beyond.
For my life, it hath no bound
Water, earth or air within;
I can fly or I can swim,
When a-weary of the ground."
A cunning Snake stood by.
And heard the vaunting strain;
And hissing said, "How vain
To hold yourself so high!
Not on land with the fleet Stag,
Or swift Falcon in the air,
Can you make good your brag:
In the water, too, the Trout
Will beat you out and out:
You with neither can compare."
* * * * *
The wise man knoweth well,
That it is not wisdom's end
In all things to pretend,--
But in something to excel.
FABLE XIV.
THE MUFF, THE FAN, AND THE UMBRELLA.
If some absurd presumption show--
In seeking everything to know,
To serve but for a single use
May also be without excuse.
Upon a table, once, together lay
A Muff, Umbrella, and a Fan.
In dialect such as, in a former day,
The Pot unto the Kettle spoke.
The Umbrella silence broke,
And to his two companions thus began:
"Now pretty articles are not ye both!
You, Muff, in winter serve your purpose well;
But, when spring comes about, in idle sloth
In a dark corner must forgotten dwell.
You, Fan, an useless thing become, in turn,
When heat declines in summer's glowing urn,
And cold winds take your office quite away.
Learn now, from me, a broader part to play.
To shield the head from rains of wintry skies,
I, as Umbrella, serve the turn;
Again, like praise I earn
When summer's ardent rays the Parasol defies."
FABLE XV.
THE FROG AND THE TADPOLE.
On Tagus' banks, in artless wonder,
A little Tadpole, on a canebrake gazing,
Long with its mother chatted of the leaves,
Of the huge stalks, and verdure so amazing;
But now the air with the fierce tempest heaves,
And the rough winds the canebrake rent asunder--
A broken cane into the stream fell over;
"Come, look, my child," now said the thoughtful mother,
"Without, so strong, luxuriant and smooth--
Within, all pith and emptiness, forsooth!"
* * * * *
If our good Frog some poets' works had read,
Perchance, of them she might the same have said.
FABLE XVI.
THE BUSTARD.
The sluggish Bustard, in her foolish pate,
Vexed with her young ones' awkward flight,
Purposed to raise a brood more light,
Even though 't were illegitimate.
For this end many an egg she stole
From Partridge, Pigeon and the Kite,
And sundry birds of easy flight;
And in her nest mixed up the whole.
Long while and patiently she sat upon them;
Though some proved addled, yet, in time, the rest
With a fine brood of nurslings filled the nest;
And many a kind, of course, was found among them.
A host of birds collects, at her request,
To admire her progeny, so rare and new;
But each away with his own offspring flew,
And left poor Bustard with an empty nest.
Ye, who the ideas of other men brood over,--
Bring out your fledglings. Let us see them fly!
Then, "This, and this is mine," resounds the cry
How much belongs to you, we'll soon discover.
FABLE XVII.
THE LINNET AND THE SWAN.
"Keep silence, noisy little one,"
Unto a Linnet said the Swan.
"It almost tempts myself to sing; although
No voice, our feathered tribes among,
Compares with mine in melody, you know."
The Linnet still maintained her joyous trill.
"What insolence is this!" continued he.
"See how this tiny warbler taunteth me!
Naught but my great consideration
Prevents your well-deserved humiliation,
By the display of my superior skill."
"Would you might sing!" replied the little bird;
"With boundless curiosity we all--
All other voice by silent wonder shackled--
Should listen to that harmony divine,
Which boasts far greater fame than mine;
Though none of us, as yet, hath ever heard."
Kashly the Swan essayed--but only cackled.
* * * * *
Not strange, that empty reputation,
Without, or skill or genius, at foundation,
Should, upon trial, cheat the expectation!
FABLE XVIII.
THE HACK MULE.
Full fed and antic,
A Hack Mule pushed
With speed so frantic
Forth from her stable,
That her rider
Scarcely was able
With rein to guide her.
Half our journey
Not long will bide her
In such a race.
But the false jade
Now slacks her pace.
What trouble now?
Go on! Perhaps
The spur will do.
What, no? Then taps
Of this light rod
Or harder raps
From pointed goad.
Both are, I find,
In vain bestowed.
How! out of wind!
With ready heels
She kicks behind,
And bites and squeals.
What a curvette!
She jumps and reels.
You devil's pet,
With hand and foot
We'll try you yet.
Upon her belly
Down she flounders,--
Here sprawling flat.
A murrain foul
Seize on your soul!
Amen to that!
* * * * *
The Mule, that work begins
With such capers,
Is not the mule for me;
And, whene'er I see
That any author vapors
Too much of his intent,--
At once, I say, "Beware!
Good friend, pray have a care
Of this mule's predicament."
FABLE XIX.
THE GOAT AND THE HORSE.
A Goat, in mute delight,
To the sweet echoes of a violin,
Harmonious, long stood listening;
His feet, the while, in sympathetic measure,
Danced all unconsciously for pleasure.
And, to an honest Nag, who, in like mood
Absorbed, forgot his food,
These words he spoke:
"Now, of these strings you hear the harmony,
Know that they are the entrails of a Goat,
Who pastured, in times past, with me.
And, for myself, I trust some future time--
Blest thought!--such sonorous strains may rise from mine."
The good Hack turned himself, and answered thus:
"Never are heard these sounds harmonious,
Except, across the strings concordant, sweep
The hairs that from my tail were drawn.
My fright is over and the pain is gone;
And, as reward, I now the pleasure reap
Of seeing, for myself, the honors paid
To the sweet instrument, through my own aid.
For you, who hope like pleasure to derive,--
When shall you taste it? Not while you're alive.
* * * * *
Just so, in vain a wretched writer tries,
Throughout his life, to gain celebrity;
To better judgment of posterity
He leaves his work, and, thus consoled, he dies.
FABLE XX.
THE BEE AND THE CUCKOO.
"Stop, Cuckoo," said the Bee;
"With my labor interferes
That unpleasant voice of thine,
Always ringing in my ears.
There is no bird, in song,
So monotonous as thou.
It is cuckoo all day long,
And nothing but cuckoo!"
"Wearies you, my monotone?"
The Cuckoo straight rejoined;
"So, too, one shape alone,
In thy waxen cells, I find.
If, in the self-same way,
You make a hundred as each one;
If I nothing new can say,
Nothing new by you is done."
This was the Bee's reply:
"A work of usefulness
May lack variety,
And be valued none the less.
But in a work designed
To gratify the taste,
If we no invention find,
Aught else is tedious waste."
FABLE XXI.
THE RAT AND THE CAT.
At telling of rabies old Esop was grand;
With his subtile invention, his wisdom so great.
And a story of his, as I have it at hand,
Into our own language I now will translate.
"It is plain," said a Rat, at the mouth of his hole,
"No distinction more lovely and noble is found
Than fidelity. Therefore it is, on my soul,
I love and respect the generous Hound."
A Cat answered, hard by: "This quality fine
I assure you is also a merit of mine."--
"Ah! what's that?" said the Rat, as, in terrible fright
He sprang to his hole, and, when safe out of sight,
Just poking his nose out, he coolly did call:
"You boast of it, hey? I don't like it at all."
* * * * *
The honor which many would freely allow,
They retract, when it lights on an enemy's brow.
Now what say you, my reader? "The fable is one
Which delights and instructs. It is perfectly done.
Esop had, in these things, a way of his own."
Ah! but look, my good sir; from this noddle of mine
It all came. Your friend Esop wrote never a line--
Of the whole.--"Ah, indeed! Then the fable is thine?"
Yes it is, learned man; and I ween you'll not fail.
Being mine, to attack it with tooth and with nail.
FABLE XXII.--XXIII.
THE OWL AND LAMP,
AND
THE DOGS AND THE RAGMAN.
There is a set of dastard knaves,
Vile critics, that will wait to make attack
On authors till their victims are--alack!--
All safe and quiet in their graves;
For living men, they know, might answer back.
To this same purpose, once a little lay
My old grandmother sang to me,
Recounting how a wandering Owl, one day,
Into a convent chanced to make her way;--
I'm wrong--by day it could not be.
For, without doubt, the evening's sun had set
Below the horizon long ago.
Now, as she flew along, our Owl she met
A Lamp or Lanthorn in the passage set--
Which of the two I do not know.
Turning reluctant back, in angry spite,
Thus spoke she out her mind:
"Ah, Lamp! with what unspeakable delight
I'd suck the oil all out of you this night,
But that my eyes you blind!
But if I cannot now,
Since you are such a blaze of dazzling light,--
If I should find you, on some other night,
Unlighted, then, I shall be ready quite
To make a feast, I vow."
* * * * *
Denounced though I may be,
By coward critics, that I here expose--
Because I dare their meanness to disclose;
Their portrait they shall see
In yet another fable ere I close.
* * * * *
Beating an old dust pan,
A Ragman stood, when, barking furiously
As Cerberus, two Dogs, eying him curiously,
With vagabondish man,
As is their wont--howled savagely.
To them a tall Greyhound
Said, "Let the wretch alone,--for he is one
Who from dead dogs will strip the reeking skin
To sell for bread. No honor can you win
On him--for, I'll be bound,
From living dogs the conscious rogue will run."
FABLE XXIV.
THE THRUSH, PARROT AND MAGPIE.
A Thrush, who heard a Parrot talking--
Of him, rather than of his instructor, man,
Desired himself the mystery to learn.
And, in one lesson, such line accent thought
To have attained, that, in his turn,
He the great art of speech began
To the Magpie to teach; and turned his pupil out
A scholar, as accomplished as, no doubt,
Are those who will poor copies and translations scan
For models--Blunder shocking!
FABLE XXV.
THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERD.
The Wolf a Shepherd blandly once addressed:
"Friend--let me say I really do not know
Why you will view me always as a pest;
You think me a bad fellow. Faith, I am not so.
What a warm coat my skin in winter yields!
It shelters many a man from cold and wetting;
Moreover, too, from sting of flea it shields,
And other insects vile your couch besetting.
Against the withering blight of evil eye
My claws will screen you--counter charm secure.
My fat for hurts a sovereign remedy--
The uses of my teeth you know, I'm sure."
The Shepherd answered: "Animal perverse!
Upon thy head be Heaven's eternal curse!
On endless mischief bent--no thanks to you
If, now and then, some good you chance to do."
* * * * *
To many books, in these our days, my verse
Allots the Wolf's foul character and curse.
FABLE XXVI.
THE LION, EAGLE AND BAT.
The Eagle and Lion
Held solemn debate;
To settle between them
Some matters of state
Loud complaints of the Bat
Made the Eagle--"How long
Shall this pitiful creature
Dare do us such wrong?
With my vassals mixing,
To her birdship she clings,--
As proof irrefragable,
Showing her wings;
But says, when she chooses
Our laws to defy,
I'm no subject of yours;
A plain quadruped I.
Would you call me a Bird?
A sad blunder you've made!
For I wear a broad snout,
And no beak, on my head?
With my vassals, she slanders
The Beasts of your reign;
When among you she wanders,
Of the Birds will complain."
"In my realm," said the Lion,
"No more shall she come."--
"Nor in mine," said the Eagle--
"Let that be her doom."
Thenceforward, in darkness,
She wanders alone;
No Bird and no Beast
Such companion will own.
Bats of authors, who seek
To be two things at once,
Take care lest ye prove
In both--but a dunce!
FABLE XXVII.
THE MONKEY.
A Monkey, clothed in silk,
Will a Monkey still remain;
So says an ancient proverb,
And so say I again;
As to all, it clearly will appear,
Who listen to our fable here.
In dress of gaudy hues,
Such as harlequin would choose,
A Monkey tricked herself.
But I rather think the elf
From her master got her finery;
For else, I hardly see
How Monkey could or cloth or tailor find find--
Yet so the story goes--but never mind.
Seeing herself so gay,
She through the window sprang
Upon a roof that lay
Below, then took her way
Unto the far-off land of Tetuan.
The proverb don't say this;
But there a history is,
Which I cannot call to mind,--
For the book is very rare,---
Which doth the truth unravel
Whither she did travel;
Which to discover must have cost a world of care
But the author does not say,
And neither can I guess.
If by ship, or by the way
Of the Isthmus of Suez:
All that we know is, that she certainly went there.
Here our fine lady found
A jolly Monkey crew,--
For Monkeys there abound,--
But naked every one:
As no other style they knew
In the land of Tetuan.
Now the naked Monkeys crowd
An admiring glance to snatch;
Homage to pay they press;
And readily allowed,
To the brainless little wretch,
Wisdom and wit to match
The splendors of her dress.
And forthwith it was decided,
By general accord,
That to her should be confided,
As ruler of the horde,
A meditated foray
Far and wide about the land,
A stock of food to gather
To feed the hungry band.
So the leader new set forth
With all her subject host,
And, not alone her road,
But her wits as well, she lost.
Over mountain, moor and valley,
Forest, and ridge, and plain,
Deserts, rivers and morasses,
She dragged her wearied train.
When the day's work was over
They could scarcely move a limb;
And each exhausted rover
Decided--if again,
Through his life, in such excursion
It should be his luck to join--
That he would choose a captain
More skilled, if not so fine.
From toil and from vexation,
They learned a lesson bitter--
That fine clothing is not wisdom,
Not all things gold that glitter.
* * * * *
Now, far this side of Tetuan,
We many a Monkey see,
Who, though he wear the student's
Will still a blockhead be.
FABLE XXVIII.
THE ASS AND HIS MASTER.
"On good and bad an equal value sets
The stupid mob. From me the worst it gets,
And never fails to praise," With vile pretence,
The scurrilous author thus his trash excused.
A poet shrewd, hearing the lame defence,
Indignant, thus exposed the argument abused.
A Donkey's master said unto his beast,
While doling out to him his lock of straw,
"Here, take it--since such diet suits your taste,
And much good may it do your vulgar maw!"
Often the slighting speech the man repeated.
The Ass--his quiet mood by insult heated--
Replies: "Just what you choose to give, I take,
Master unjust! but not because I choose it.
Think you I nothing like but straw? Then make
The experiment. Bring corn, and see if I refuse it."
* * * * *
Ye caterers for the public, hence take heed
How your defaults by false excuse you cover!
Fed upon straw--straw it may eat, indeed:
Try it with generous fare--'t will scorn the other.
FABLE XXIX.
THE TURNSPIT AND THE MULE OF THE WELL.
In inn or convent kitchen,
The reader oft, no doubt,
Turning the spit about,
A contrivance shrewd has seen.
A wheel of wood is it,
With steps on outer rim,
Where a Dog, ceaseless clambering,
Turns it beneath his feet.
A Dog, who every day,
In such wheel, performed his stint,
Thus expressed his discontent:
"Hard work and paltry pay!
Here I may climb and sweat;
And, when my task is done,
They throw me out a bone,--
While they eat all the meat.
Wearily, wearily on,
Day passes after day.
In the house I will not stay,
Nor in the hated town."
The first chance of flight improving,
He slily off did steal;
Till he found, in a field, a wheel
Of a well, which a Mule kept moving.
As his eyes he on it set,
He cried,--"What have we here?
By this it would appear
Here, too, they're roasting meat."
"No meat I roast, but pump
Water," replied the Mule.--
"Let me, now, try a pull;
I'm light, but up I'll jump.
Ah! pretty heavy, is it?
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 XXX.
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 assuage
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 arsenic 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 manuscripts 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 manuscript 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 XXXI.
THE SQUIRREL AND THE HORSE.
A Steed,--a noble 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 XXXII.
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 XXXIII.
THE OSTRICH, THE DROMEDARY, AND THE FOX.
A party of beasts assembled 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 rehearsed
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 surpasses my friend Dromedary."
"For my part," said Dromedary, "I must declare
That I think we can none with the Ostrich compare."
The assembly, astounded, was puzzled to guess
Why these two should so strange an opinion profess.
Could it be that they both were bulky and strong,
Or that both boasted necks so remarkably long?
Or that Ostrich was known as a simpleton rare,
While the other had surely no wisdom to spare?
Of their mutual ugliness were they both jealous,
Or that each could display a protuberance callous?
Or can it be--"Pooh!" said Reynard the sly;
"Are you all at a loss? then so am not I.
From Barbary both, of the desert, each brother,
As his fellow-countryman, praises the other."
* * * * *
Shrewdly our Fox the riddle has read;
Of writers in plenty the same may be said,
Who, to test a man's genius, ask where he was bred.
FABLE XXXIV.
THE CROW AND THE TURKEY.
A bitter contest once did spring,--
No matter how the fact I know,--
On their respective speed of wing,
Between a Turkey and a Crow.
Which first would reach the appointed station,
Sure you can tell, as well as I,
Without much grave consideration,
If you have ever seen them fly.
"Look here," the loitering Turkey cries
To Crow, half vanished out of view;
"The thought will to my mind arise
That you are black and ugly too.
Moreover, I have always heard,"--
She shouts still louder after him,--
"You are a most unlucky bird,
Foreboding naught but evils grim.
Begone from sight, disgusting beast!
You fairly do my stomach turn;
Making your foul, revolting feast
On carrion corpse that dogs would spurn."
"All this is nothing to the case,"
Answered the Crow, far off in air;
"The only question now in place
Is of our flight a trial fair."
* * * * *
When envious detractors find
In wise men's works, no welcome faults,
They satisfy their spiteful mind
By base and personal assaults.
FABLE XXXV.
THE SILKWORM AND THE CATERPILLAR.
At the very same time, when the gaunt Dromedary
And Ostrich, so ugly, each other bepraised,
In terms so unmeasured and extraordinary,
That the other brutes thought them both utterly crazed,
Till the Fox told the reason, and their wonder dispelled--
In that same assembly arose a discussion
Concerning the Silkworm, artificer skilled
In producing of works of such wonderful fashion.
A silken cocoon some one brought them to see;
They examine--their plaudits are hearty and loud.
And, even the Mole, though as blind as could be,
Concedes it to be a masterpiece proud.
But an old Caterpillar, who his spite could not stifle,
Muttered out of a corner, "This fuss was absurd.
Their wondrous cocoon was a pitiful trifle;
Its admirers all ninnies," he coolly averred.
The beasts at each other looked round in amaze.
"How comes it," say they, "that this creature forlorn,
What the rest of us all are uniting to praise,
He alone, wretched worm, takes upon him to scorn?"
Then up jumped sly Reynard and said, "On my soul,
'Tis easy enough the reason to show;
His mortified rancor he cannot control;
He makes cocoons too, though they 're worthless, we know."
* * * * *
Laborious Genius! when, stung by the sneer
Of the envious wretch who would rob you of glory,
The loss of your well-deserved laurels you fear,
Then take my advice and tell him this story.
FABLE XXXVI.
THE PURCHASE OF THE ASS.
Yesterday through our street
An Ass did pass,
In trappings most complete--
A gorgeous Ass.
Saddle and halter too
Were both bran new;
With tassels yellow
Or red as rose.
Besides the fellow
Wore plumes and bows
Of ribbons bright.
Bells tinkle light
As on he paced;
And many a prank
And rare device,
With carving nice,
The shears had traced
On breast and flank.
His cunning master,--
As I was told,--
A Gypsy jockey,
The creature sold
To a weak blockhead;
And they said
The Donkey Colt
Had cost the dolt
But a mere song.
In haste along
The exulting buyer
Drove home the beast,--
His pride to feast,
While friends admire
His bargain rare.
"Let me inquire,
Neighbor,"--says one,--
"If blood and bone,
Good as his clothes,
Your purchase shows."
Whereon, with care,
The showy gear
And harness line
To strip he goes.
Beneath the saddle--
At first go off--
They find his withers
With warts all rough,
Like musket balls.
Along the spine,
And on his shoulders,
Six dreadful galls
Appal beholders.
Nothing to say
Of two great gashes,
That hidden lay
Under the girt;
And an old hurt,
From cruel lashes,
Clean to the bone,
Into a tumor
Inveterate grown.
In bitter humor,
"Ah, precious gull!"--
The hapless owner said,--
"Donkey more dull
A thousand fold
Than this brute cull,
I have my money paid
For trumpery vile,
Through Gypsy wile."
* * * * *
Now faith, this queer affair
I often note.
Well it applies
To friends of mine,
Who, at great price,
Buy books, that shine
In bindings rich and rare,
But are not worth a groat.
FABLE XXXVII.
THE OX AND THE GRASSHOPPER.
As in a field the sturdy Ox was ploughing,
A Grasshopper, close by him, shrilly sang out;
"Ah! what a crooked furrow, friend, you're making!
Then the Ox answered,--"Sure, my little lady,
If every other furrow were not drawn straight,
You never would perceive that this was crooked;
Stop, then, reproaches so unjust and futile;
For well I serve my master, and he heeds not
A single failure, in so much accomplished."
* * * * *
Now let the captious critic that presumeth,--
Vain Grasshopper, the useful Ox reproaching,--
To drag to light, from works of sterling merit,
Some petty blemish, take to himself our meaning.