THE MACAW AND THE MARMOT.
A brilliantly-colored Macaw,
A wandering clown, near the spot
Where she hung in a balcony, saw--
A Savoyard, more likely than not.
He was showing--a penny to gain--
An animal ugly and squat;
Which he lauded in high-sounding strain
The creature, it was a Marmot.
The absurd little beast, at his word,
Came out of his box into sight;
When unto him said our gay bird:
"This matter amazes me quite,
That men give their money, to see
Such a comical creature as you,
When they freely may look upon me,
Clad in plumage of exquisite hue.
You may be, for aught that I know,
Some creature of value untold;
But for me, 'tis enough that you show
Yourself to all comers, for gold."
* * * * *
A scribbler, who heard the remark,
Hung his head, and went sneaking away
Because, for his low, dirty work,
He was kept by a printer in pay.
FABLE XXXIX.
THE PORTRAIT.
A spreading contagion, defacing our tongue
With phrases outlandish, our critics bemoan.
But some fools have their notions of purity hung
Upon obsolete terms superseding our own.
Living words they despise as a vulgar intrusion,
And forgotten ones rake from oblivion's gloom.
For a word of advice on such stupid conclusion,
In phrase like their own, we here must find room;
In two dialects, jostling in motley confusion.
Of our own times a Painter--who jealousy felt
That some portraits antique, of a day long bygone
From the connoisseurs won both lauding and gelt--
Determined to make some antiques of his own.
So essaying, one day, the portrait to limn
Of a certain rich man, in high estimate held,
He deemed that a dress of antiquity grim
Would give to his limning the impress of eld.
For a second Velasquez he counted to stand--
When the traits of the sitter, to perfect content,
Having deftly depicted--with grave collar and band,
And glittering gauds, he a costume besprent
That had figured, whilom, as stately and grand.
To his patron the work he carries with speed.
He, his form thus yclad with wonderment saw;
By such odd gear full sorely astounded, I rede,--
Though the face of the portrait showed dainty and braw.
This antick his patron, to quip him, devised--
The Painter a guerdon to grant, to his gree--In
a chest, as heir-loom from his ancestry prized,
Some old coins had been lying for centuries three;
Of the first of the Charles' and fifth Ferdinand,
Of Philip the second and Philip the third:
A purse full of these he placed in the hand
Of the Painter abashed--but ne'er said a word.
"With these coin--or, as certes, I rather might say--
These medals, to market if I chance for to his,"--
Quoth our limner,--"when victuals I needed, I pray,
How, with such, could I chaffer my cheer to supply?
"But sith," said the other, "you've pranked me out there
In a guise, that was once brave and lordly,--'tis true,
But which no living man but a beadle would wear;
As you 've painted me, so I have paid you.
Take your picture again, and paint round my throat
A cravat, instead of that collar and band--Yon
satin slashed doublet exchange for my coat,
And my rapier, too, for that basket-hilt brand;
Not one, in the city's whole compass, there is
Who, in trappings like these, would guess at my phiz.
Paint me like myself, and the price I'll lay down
In good money, current in country or town."
* * * * *
Hold, now. If we laugh at the farcical notion
Of this modern Painter, and deem it so droll,
Why may we not laugh at the Author's devotion,
His ideas who drapes in antiquity's stole;--
Who shocks us with phrases all mouldy with age;
Thinks oddity graceful;--and purity's self
Considers his style, when he darkens his page
With expressions forgotten and laid on the shelf;--
And believes that no term by pure taste is forbid,
If it only were good in the time of the Cid?
FABLE XL.
THE TWO INNS.
Coming to a little town,
The mountain's skirts within,
Two youthful travellers, seeking rest,
Looked round them for an Inn.
Of two rival Inns, the host,
Each, with a thousand offers,
Did the wayfarers accost.
To give offence to neither
Was their natural desire;
So, in the house of either,
Apartments one doth hire.
Of the mansions twain,
Each guest chooseth, for himself,
In which he will remain.
To a house that stretched
Around its ample courts.
Its broad front palatial,
One traveller resorts.
A quartered scutcheon shone
Over the lofty gate,
Sculptured deep in stone.
Less grand the other Inn
Appeared unto the sight,
But, comfort and good cheer within
Its patron's trust requite.
Chambers, its walls did screen,
Of pleasant temperature,
All light, and bright, and clean.
But its rival, the huge palace,
With its architecture bold,
Was narrow, dark and dirty,
And miserably cold.
A portal tall and sightly,--
Within inclement garrets,
With tiled roof covered slightly.
Its inmate comfortless,
Did a weary sojourn make;
And bewailed unto his comrade,
Next day, his sad mistake.
His friend thus answer gives:
"In like manner many a book
Its reader's hopes deceives."
FABLE XLI.
THE TEA-PLANT AND SAGE.
From China, once, the Tea-plant coming,
Met with the Sage upon his way.
"Friend,"--said the latter,--"whither roaming?"
"For Europe, where for me they pay
A generous price,"--quoth Tea,--"I'm bound."
"And I,"--said Sage,--"to China's market go;
Where I am held in reverence profound
For beverage or for medicine, you know.
In Europe no good fortune waits on me;
A worthless herb, not comparable to thee,
But quite too common there--to shine.
I to your home am sent, and you to mine.
Good luck attend you to my native shore!
For never yet was any nation known,
But gold and praises will profusely pour
On foreign products, while it slights its own."
* * * * *
This sarcasm some abatement may admit,
For varying fancies are the soul of trade;
But, of the comment, application fit,
In literary borrowings, may be made.
For what, in general, doth good service render,
In special cases sometimes proves a blunder.
Now, I am sure that I can Spaniards show,
Who will eternally be quoting
Whole pages out of Tasso or Boileau;
Yet never think or care to know
What language Garcilaso wrote in.
FABLE XLII.
THE CAT, THE LIZARD, AND THE CRICKET.
Creatures there are, of wondrous skill
To rid themselves of every ill,
By use of vegetable specific--
Their sound construction organic
Preserving by their lore botanic.
They know all herbs medicinal--diuretic,
Narcotic, purgative, emetic,
Febrifuge, styptic and prolific,
Cephalic, too, and sudorific.
A Cat, theoretic and empirical,
There was,--a pedant most rhetorical,--
That talked in lofty style, magniloquent
As any grave professor eloquent,--
Seeking for vegetables salutiferous,
Said to a Lizard,--"Ah! what pangs mortiferous
I must, to cure this turgidness hydropsical,
Swallow some essence of leaves heliotropical."
Lizard, at this bombastic speech astounded,--
That with big terms professional resounded,--
Naught better knew what Puss did gabble on,
Than if she spoke in tongue of Babylon.
But the ridiculous charlatan, he saw,
With Sunflower leaves was stuffing out her maw.
"Aha!"--said he,--"learned Signora Dropsical,
I know now what's your essence heliotropical!"
A silly Cricket heard the dialogue;
And, though he knew naught of this catalogue
Of words so overwhelming and so curious,
Honored the Cat with an eulogium glorious.
For some there are who pomp for merit take;
And, of what's clear and simple, mockery make.
* * * * *
Lovers of phrases hyperbolical,
And turgid aphorisms diabolical,
Exhausting all the dictionary's store
Of giant-worded and bombastic lore,--
Though meaningless and inappropriate all,--
Upon your mouthing verbiage dogmatical
Reflects this polysyllabic apologue enigmatical.
FABLE XLIII.
THE CONCERT OF THE BEASTS.
Attention--noble auditory!
While the rebeck I tune;
And be prepared with plaudits soon,
When ye have heard my story.
Certain of the subject beasts
Of the mighty Lion's court
An entertainment musical,
To make his Royal Highness sport
Upon his birth-day festival,
Devised,--to grace the occasion gay,
And pleasure to insure,
They organized an orchestra
To make success secure.
As often it doth happen,
Little wisdom was displayed,
In choosing actors competent,
That understood their trade.
Naught was said about the Nightingale,
Of the Blackbird not a word;
Of Lark or Linnet no one thought,
Or the Canary-bird.
Singers, much less accomplished
But more self-satisfied,
Took upon themselves the charge
The music to provide.
Before the time appointed
To electrify all hearts,
Each musician loudly vaunted
How they would play their parts.
At length the choir the prelude
Commenced within the hall,
Before the expectant multitude,--
Adroit performers all--
Two lusty Crickets treble sang;
Frog and locust took their place
To do up the contra-alto;
Hog and Donkey grunted base;
While, to make up the melody,
Two Hornets brisk the tenor try.
With what delicious cadence
And accent delicate
The orchestra resounded,
Sure I need not here repeat;
I'll only say, that most
Stopped up their ears, at once;
But, from deference to their host,
Their annoyance sought to hide,
At the barbarous dissonance,
That echoed far and wide.
Frog saw, by the wry faces,
That no bravo's cheering shout
Or glad applause awaited them;
And sprang the choir from out.
"The stupid Ass is out of tune
Most shockingly," said he.
"No--'tis the treble," Donkey brayed,
"That mars the harmony."
"The Hog, he fairly spoils the whole,"
A squeaking Cricket cried.
"No, no!"--said Chucky,--"on my soul,
I say the Locust, worse than all,
Out of all time and tune doth squall."
"That speech becomes you very ill!
Mind what you say!"--in accents shrill,
Locust angrily replied.
"'Tis plain that those confounded tenors,
The Hornets, are the real sinners!"
The Lion silenced the dispute:
"Before the concert was begun
Each puffed-up and conceited brute
Was bragging loud--yea, every one;
And challenged confident applause,
As if, to him alone, were due,
The honor of the harmony
Produced by your melodious crew.
Now the experiment is made,
And your incompetence betrayed--
On your own shares, ye all are dumb,
In this outrageous pandemonium,
And, to avoid presumptuous shame,
Each on his neighbor lays the blame.
Now get ye gone--and from my sight
Forever banished be.
The day beware, that e'er ye dare
Again to sing to me!"
* * * * *
Such, Heaven grant to be
The issue of the fray,
When writers, two or three,
Their scanty wits uniting,--
If the book should make its way
Each arrogates the praise;
If not--the blame he lays
On his comrade's wretched writing.
FABLE XLIV.
THE SWORD AND THE SPIT.
Sheer, sharp and trusty, tempered well,
A Sword, as good as from the skilful hand
Of famous smith Toledan ever fell,
The shock of many a combat did withstand.
In turn, it several masters truly served,
And brought them safe through dangers many.
Though better fate it well deserved,
At auctions sold for paltry penny,
Some luckless chance--who ever would have thought it?--
At last, into an inn's dark corner brought it.
There--like an useless thing--upon a pin
Hung up, it ate itself away
In useless rust, until the maid, one day,
By order of the innkeeper, her master,--
A precious blockhead, too, he must have been,--
Into the kitchen took it,--sad disaster!--
To spit a hen. Degrading--shame upon her!--
What once had been a blade of proof and honor.
While this was going on within the inn,
A certain stranger, newly come to court,--
A clown, that would a modish life begin,--
Did to a cutler for a sword resort.
The cutler saw that, for the case in hand,
The sword was but an idle ornament;
And, if the hilt could but inspection stand,
No matter what the blade might be--so sent
His booby customer, for the time, away;--
"A sword should ready be another day."
The rogue, then, takes an old and battered spit,
Which, in his kitchen, service long had done;
He cleans, and polishes, and sharpens it;
And sells it to the unsuspecting clown,--
In such transactions miserably raw,--
For the good sword of Thomas d'Ayala.
An arrant knave, as gallows e'er did cure,--
The innkeeper as great a blockhead,--sure.
* * * * *
With equal knavery and stupidity,
May not we charge these vile translators
Who, with their works, in wretched rivalry,
We see infesting all the world of Letters?
One, with bad versions, famous writers fits--
Thus turning noble swords to vulgar spits.
Another clothes vile works in sounding words;
Then, seeks to sell his spits for trusty swords.
FABLE XLV.
THE UNFORTUNATES.
A man who, from his birth, was dumb
And deafer than a mole,
Some trifle to arrange was set
With a blind man, cheek by jowl.
The blind man spoke by signs
Which the mute did plainly mark;
When, in like way, he said his say,
His friend was in the dark.
In this odd predicament,
They, for friendly aid, accost
A passing comrade of them both,
Who his right arm had lost.
The gestures of the mute
He explained in language good;
And the blind man, from his mouth,
The whole matter understood.
To close this curious scene
And conference singular,
A contract it behoved
Of the bargain to prepare.
"Friends,"--said the one-armed man--,
"I must here give up the task;
But the schoolmaster will come
And write it, if you ask."
"How can a cripple lame,"--
Said the blind man,--"hither come?
Why, he can hardly stir.
We must go to him at home."
The cripple then the compact
To paper did transfer;
The blind and maimed man dictate;
The mute was messenger.
For this purpose any two
Were enough,--and even more.
But, of such a hapless crew,
It took no less than four.
* * * * *
Were it not that in Alcarria,
A little while ago.
This very matter happened,--
As a thousand gossips know,--
It might have been surmised
That, some one contrived the story,
To hit off the plan devised
By weak aspirants for glory,
Who club their pens and brains
Some wondrous work to try,
By their united pains,
Which would each alone defy.
FABLE XLVI.
THE COCKS.
A Cock, that was well known
As a champion brave and stout,
And a Chicken but half grown
Squabbled something about,--
But what, to me's unknown,--
And, after furious din,
At last got up a very pretty battle;
In which the chick such fight did show,
And the old one around so sharply rattle,
That, with a loud, exultant crow,
He claimed the honors of the field to win.
Then the seraglio's vanquished lord,--
His rival out of hearing of his tongue,--
Said, "Ah! in time he'll make a pretty bird,
But, now, poor fellow, he is very young."
No more he dared himself to match
With the young hero; but again
With an old Cock he had a scratch,--
Of many fights, a veteran,--
Who hardly left him plume or crest.
Whereon he muttered to the rest,
"The fine old fellow!--surely it would be
Unfair to thrash so old a chap as he."
* * * * *
Let him that will in strife engage
On any question literary,
Pay less attention to the age
Than talents of his adversary.
FABLE XLVII.
THE MONKEY AND THE MAGPIE.
To her friend, the crafty Monkey,
Said a Magpie,--"If you'll go
With me unto my dwelling,
I've some pretty things to show.
For, sure you know, I've skill
A thousand things to steal.
You shall see them, if you will,
Where I my hoard conceal
In my chest." Replied her friend:
"I'll wait on you with pleasure."
So their course forthwith they bend
To see the Magpie's treasure.
And there, my lady Magpie
Proceeded to produce,
First, an old colored garter,
Then a hoop that ladies use,--
Two petty coins, a buckle,
Of a knife a shabby handle,
A blade of broken scissors,
And a little bit of candle,
The battered tip of scabbard
Worn out in ancient war,
A scrap of gauze and half a comb,
Three pegs of a guitar,--
With an endless lot of knick-knacks,
That good for nothing were.
"What think you now, friend Monkey?
Don't you envy me my pelf?
Upon my word, no other bird
Is so wealthy as myself."
A shrewd grimace the Monkey made,
And to Magpie answered she:
"This is all an idle story,
And your wealth mere trumpery.
In your faithful chest you bury
Every petty, straggling waif;
Not that they all are worth a groat,
But because it keeps them safe.
Look at my jaws, dear gossip;
You see, beneath them here,
I have two nice snug magazines,
Or chops, if you prefer.
These I contract at pleasure,
Or expand them, when I please.
What I like, I eat at leisure,--
And the residue in these
I stow, there safely to remain
Till I shall hungry be again.
Old rags and wretched rubbish
You, foolish bird, lay by;
Sweet nuts and tender filberts,
And racy sweetmeats--I,--
Meat, and whatever else is good,
In time of need, to serve as food."
* * * * *
Shall the Monkey's lecture shrewd
To the Magpie only go?
The advice, I think, is good
For those who make a show
Of a medley incoherent,
Where no meaning is apparent.
FABLE XLVIII.
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE SPARROW.
A Nightingale her voice one day was tuning
In notes to match an organ's sonorous swell;
When by her cage a chattering Sparrow roaming
Stopped--his surprise at her attempt to tell.
"I marvel much, that such strange pains you take;
That you, who sing so sweetly and so well,
Your imitators, thus, your models make;
For sure, the notes the organ's pipes that swell,
It owes to imitation of your song."
"Nevertheless," replies the Nightingale,--
"Though it had learned of me, I would not fail
From it, in turn, instruction to derive.
And you will see the good results ere long.
To imitate my native bursts it sought;
I wish my untutored strains to modify
By the deep rules of science it has taught.
And thus, good sir, you see, that by and by,
My natural talent will by education thrive."
* * * * *
Has the caprice some learned fancy crossed,
That hours to study given are labor lost?
Who wisest is, will ever study most.
FABLE XLIX.
THE GARDENER AND HIS MASTER.
A copious fountain played
In a garden's flowery bed,
And served to form a basin
Where many fish were fed.
Of the watering of his flowers
The Gardener thought alone;
And drained it dry, till due supply
For carp and tench was gone.
His Master soon the mischief saw,
And scolds the careless sinner.
"The flowers I love; but also like
My mess of fish for dinner."
The Gardener, grown crusty,
So reads his Master's whim,
That he lets the plants go thirsty,
That carp and tench may swim.
In the garden, shortly after,
The indignant owner found
His flowers, all dry and withered,
Upon the parching ground.
"Booby! you need not water waste,
And leave me not a fish to taste;
Nor yet deny--to save the fish--
A single flower to grace the dish,"
* * * * *
Though the maxim may be trite,--
Unless you have the skill,
Taste and profit to unite,--
Lay by the author's quill.
FABLE L.
THE TWO THRUSHES.
A Thrush, with years grown gray,
And wise as well as old,
His grandson asked one day,--
An unpractised youth and bold,--
With him to go straightway,
Their morning flight to hold,
Where a well-stocked vineyard lay--
On its luscious fruit to prey.
"Where may this vineyard be?"--
The youngling answered coy,--
"And what fruit is there?"--"We'll see.
Learn how to live, my boy,"
Said the grandsire. "Come with me,
And a banquet rich enjoy."
As he spoke the words, he shew
Where thick the clusters grew.
The pert young pilferer saw;--
"Is this the fruit you puff?
Who would think you were so raw?
What puny, withered stuff!
Pooh! It isn't worth a straw.
Now, bigger fruit enough,
And better far than any here
I know of, in a garden near.
A single grape, I'll swear,
Will prove better than it all.
But we'll make a trial fair,"
When they reach the garden wall,
The fledgling shouts--"Look there--
How big and nice! I call
That fruit, indeed--no trash."
Reader, it was a yellow calabash.
* * * * *
It may not much surprise
That young birds by chaff are caught;
But that, by men reputed wise,
Books should, for bulk, be bought,
And valued for their size,
Is stranger, is it not?
If a good work, 'tis great of course;
If bad, the more there is the worse.
FABLE LI.
THE LACE-MAKERS.
Near a lace-weaver, lived
A man who made silver and gold galloons.
"Now, who would have believed,
Neighbor," said he, "that, even for more doubloons,
Three yards of your light lace are sold
Than ten of mine, though wrought in heavy gold!"
"That my articles exceed
In value, sir, so very much your own,
Is not strange; although, indeed,
You work in gold, and I in thread alone.
For skill is known to all
To be of greater worth than raw material."
* * * * *
Let those, at style who sneer,
And, to regard the matter only, condescend,
Note that--as here
A simple thread doth precious gold transcend--
So elegance and finish give
That form to thought, by which great works shall live.
FABLE LII.
THE HUNTER AND HIS FERRET.
Well tired, and exhausted
With the heat of the sun,
But loaded with rabbits,
A Hunter turned home.
Near by--to a neighbor
He met in the way--
He recounted the labor
And spoils of the day.
"A long tramp,--my old lad,
All day did I trudge;
But the luck is not bad,
If I am the judge.
Since the break of the day
I 've been out in the sun;
Hot enough, I should say,--
But fair business I've done.
Without too much bragging,
I say and repeat it,--
No hunter in bagging
The conies can beat it."
The Ferret's quick ear,
In his box as he hung,
His master did hear--
His own praise while he sung.
His sharp nose he poked
Through its lattice of wire;
"Now surely you joked,--
I should like to inquire,--
That I did the work,
Can you truly deny?
These rabbits of yours,
Who caught them but I?
So little desert,
In my toils do you see,
That you never can make
Some slight mention of me?"
* * * * *
That this cogent remark
The master might sting,
A body might think;
But it did no such thing.
He was cool as some writers,
Who play the mean game--
To borrow from others,
Yet breathe not their name.
FABLE LIII.
THE PIG, THE COCK, AND THE LAMB.
In a court-yard a poultry-house did lie,
Where a brisk Cock around at pleasure ran;
Behind the court, in a convenient sty,
Lay a stout Pig--fat as an alderman.
In the same yard, a little Lamb there lived;
And good companions, too, were all the three;
As may be very easily believed,
For such in farmers' yards we often see.
"Now, with your leave,"--the thrifty Pig, said he,
To the meek Lamb,--"what a delightful lot!
And what a peaceful, happy destiny,
The livelong day to slumber! Is it not?
Upon the honor of a Pig, I say,
That, in this wretched world, there's no such pleasure,
As to snore merrily the time away,
Let the world wag, and stretch yourself at leisure."
But, in his turn, the Cock the Lamb addressed,
Soon after Piggy did his dissertation end;
"To be with health and active vigor blest,
One must sleep sparingly, my little friend.
In hot July, or frosty winter day,
With the bright stars to watch, is the true way.
Sleep numbs our senses with a stupid sloth;
In fact unnerves the mind and body both."
The Lamb hears both, and knows not which to trust.
He never guesses--simple little elf--
That the fine rule, by each laid down, is just
That others ought to do what suits himself.
* * * * *
So among authors,--some there are who never
Think any doctrine sound, or maxim clever,
Or rules as good for others' guidance own,
Excepting such as they have hit upon.
FABLE LIV.
THE FLINT AND THE STEEL.
The Steel the Flint abused
Most bitterly one day,
For the unfeeling way,
In which his sides he bruised,
To chip out the brilliant sparks.
After some sharp remarks
They parted company;
And the Steel cries out, "Good-by!
Unless with me you 're used,
Of little worth you'll be!"
"Not much," said Flint,--"and yet, beyond a doubt,
Just what yourself are worth, the Flint without."
* * * * *
This little tale of ours,
Let each writer bear in mind,
Who deep study has not joined
To native powers.
In the flint, no fire we find
Without the help of steel;
Nor does Genius aught avail
Without the aid of Art.
Long as they work apart,
They both are sure to fail.
FABLE LV.
THE JUDGE AND THE ROBBER.