The Lion Going to War

The Lion Going to War

La Fontaine's short fable poem

The lion had an enterprise in hand;

Held a war-council, sent his provost-marshal,

And gave the animals a call impartial--

Each, in his way, to serve his high command.

The elephant should carry on his back

The tools of war, the mighty public pack,

And fight in elephantine way and form;

The bear should hold himself prepared to storm;

The fox all secret stratagems should fix;

The monkey should amuse the foe by tricks.

"Dismiss," said one, "the blockhead asses,

And hares, too cowardly and fleet."

"No," said the king; "I use all classes;

Without their aid my force were incomplete.

The ass shall be our trumpeter, to scare

Our enemy. And then the nimble hare

Our royal bulletins shall homeward bear."

A monarch provident and wise

Will hold his subjects all of consequence,

And know in each what talent lies.

There's nothing useless to a man of sense.

The Hare and the Partridge

The Hare and the Partridge

La Fontaine's fable poem

A field in common share

A partridge and a hare,

And live in peaceful state,

Till, woeful to relate!

The hunters' mingled cry

Compels the hare to fly.

He hurries to his fort,

And spoils almost the sport

By faulting every hound

That yelps upon the ground.

At last his reeking heat

Betrays his snug retreat.

Old Tray, with philosophic nose,

Snuffs carefully, and grows

So certain, that he cries,

"The hare is here; bow wow!"

And veteran Ranger now,--

The dog that never lies,--

"The hare is gone," replies.

Alas! poor, wretched hare,

Back comes he to his lair,

To meet destruction there!

The partridge, void of fear,

Begins her friend to jeer:--

"You bragg'd of being fleet;

How serve you, now, your feet?"

Scarce has she ceased to speak,--

The laugh yet in her beak,--

When comes her turn to die,

From which she could not fly.

She thought her wings, indeed,

Enough for every need;

But in her laugh and talk,

Forgot the cruel hawk!

The Ass Carrying Relics

The Ass Carrying Relics

La Fontaine's fable poem

An ass, with relics for his load,

Supposed the worship on the road

Meant for himself alone,

And took on lofty airs,

Receiving as his own

The incense and the prayers.

Some one, who saw his great mistake,

Cried, "Master Donkey, do not make

Yourself so big a fool.

Not you they worship, but your pack;

They praise the idols on your back,

And count yourself a paltry tool."

'Tis thus a brainless magistrate

Is honour'd for his robe of state.

The Old Woman and Her Servants

The Old Woman and Her Servants

La Fontaine's fable poem

A beldam kept two spinning maids,

Who plied so handily their trades,

Those spinning sisters down below

Were bunglers when compared with these.

No care did this old woman know

But giving tasks as she might please.

No sooner did the god of day

His glorious locks enkindle,

Than both the wheels began to play,

And from each whirling spindle

Forth danced the thread right merrily,

And back was coil'd unceasingly.

Soon as the dawn, I say, its tresses show'd,

A graceless cock most punctual crow'd.

The beldam roused, more graceless yet,

In greasy petticoat bedight,

Struck up her farthing light,

And then forthwith the bed beset,

Where deeply, blessedly did snore

Those two maid-servants tired and poor.

One oped an eye, an arm one stretch'd,

And both their breath most sadly fetch'd,

This threat concealing in the sigh--

"That cursed cock shall surely die!"

And so he did:--they cut his throat,

And put to sleep his rousing note.

And yet this murder mended not

The cruel hardship of their lot;

For now the twain were scarce in bed

Before they heard the summons dread.

The beldam, full of apprehension

Lest oversleep should cause detention,

Ran like a goblin through her mansion.

_Thus often, when one thinks_

_To clear himself from ill,_

_His effort only sinks_

_Him in the deeper still._

_The beldam acting for the cock,_

_Was Scylla for Charybdis' rock._

The Ears of the Hare

The Ears of the Hare

La Fontaine's fable poem

Some beast with horns did gore

The lion; and that sovereign dread,

Resolved to suffer so no more,

Straight banish'd from his realm, 'tis said,

All sorts of beasts with horns--

Rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns.

Such brutes all promptly fled.

A hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving,

Could hardly help believing

That some vile spy for horns would take them,

And food for accusation make them.

"Adieu," said he, "my neighbour cricket;

I take my foreign ticket.

My ears, should I stay here,

Will turn to horns, I fear;

And were they shorter than a bird's,

I fear the effect of words."

"These horns!" the cricket answer'd; "why,

God made them ears who can deny?"

"Yes," said the coward, "still they'll make them horns,

And horns, perhaps, of unicorns!

In vain shall I protest,

With all the learning of the schools:

My reasons they will send to rest

In th' Hospital of Fools."

The Man and the Wooden God

The Man and the Wooden God

La Fontaine's fable poem

A pagan kept a god of wood,--

A sort that never hears,

Though furnish'd well with ears,--

From which he hoped for wondrous good.

The idol cost the board of three;

So much enrich'd was he

With vows and offerings vain,

With bullocks garlanded and slain:

No idol ever had, as that,

A kitchen quite so full and fat.

But all this worship at his shrine

Brought not from this same block divine

Inheritance, or hidden mine,

Or luck at play, or any favour.

Nay, more, if any storm whatever

Brew'd trouble here or there,

The man was sure to have his share,

And suffer in his purse,

Although the god fared none the worse.

At last, by sheer impatience bold,

The man a crowbar seizes,

His idol breaks in pieces,

And finds it richly stuff'd with gold.

"How's this? Have I devoutly treated,"

Says he, "your godship, to be cheated?

Now leave my house, and go your way,

And search for altars where you may."

The Ass and the Little Dog

The Ass and the Little Dog

La Fontaine's fable poem

One's native talent from its course

Cannot be turned aside by force;

But poorly apes the country clown

The polish'd manners of the town.

Their Maker chooses but a few

With power of pleasing to imbue;

Where wisely leave it we, the mass,

Unlike a certain fabled ass,

That thought to gain his master's blessing

By jumping on him and caressing.

"What!" said the donkey in his heart;

"Ought it to be that puppy's part

To lead his useless life

In full companionship

With master and his wife,

While I must bear the whip?

What doth the cur a kiss to draw?

Forsooth, he only gives his paw!

If that is all there needs to please,

I'll do the thing myself, with ease."

Possess'd with this bright notion,--

His master sitting on his chair,

At leisure in the open air,--

He ambled up, with awkward motion,

And put his talents to the proof;

Upraised his bruised and batter'd hoof,

And, with an amiable mien,

His master patted on the chin,

The action gracing with a word--

The fondest bray that e'er was heard!

O, such caressing was there ever?

Or melody with such a quaver?

"Ho! Martin! here! a club, a club bring!"

Out cried the master, sore offended.

So Martin gave the ass a drubbing,--

And so the comedy was ended.

The Shepherd and the Sea

The Shepherd and the Sea

La Fontaine's short fable poem

A shepherd, neighbour to the sea,

Lived with his flock contentedly.

His fortune, though but small,

Was safe within his call.

At last some stranded kegs of gold

Him tempted, and his flock he sold,

Turn'd merchant, and the ocean's waves

Bore all his treasure--to its caves.

Brought back to keeping sheep once more,

But not chief shepherd, as before,

When sheep were his that grazed the shore,

He who, as Corydon or Thyrsis,

Might once have shone in pastoral verses,

Bedeck'd with rhyme and metre,

Was nothing now but Peter.

But time and toil redeem'd in full

Those harmless creatures rich in wool;

And as the lulling winds, one day,

The vessels wafted with a gentle motion,

"Want you," he cried, "more money, Madam Ocean?

Address yourself to some one else, I pray;

You shall not get it out of me!

I know too well your treachery."

_This tale's no fiction, but a fact,_

_Which, by experience back'd,_

_Proves that a single penny,_

_At present held, and certain,_

_Is worth five times as many,_

_Of Hope's, beyond the curtain;_

_That one should be content with his condition,_

_And shut his ears to counsels of ambition,_

_More faithless than the wreck-strown sea, and which_

_Doth thousands beggar where it makes one rich,--_

_Inspires the hope of wealth, in glorious forms,_

_And blasts the same with piracy and storms._

The Weasel in the Granary

The Weasel in the Granary

La Fontaine's fable poem

A weasel through a hole contrived to squeeze,

(She was recovering from disease,)

Which led her to a farmer's hoard.

There lodged, her wasted form she cherish'd;

Heaven knows the lard and victuals stored

That by her gnawing perish'd!

Of which the consequence

Was sudden corpulence.

A week or so was past,

When having fully broken fast,

A noise she heard, and hurried

To find the hole by which she came,

And seem'd to find it not the same;

So round she ran, most sadly flurried;

And, coming back, thrust out her head,

Which, sticking there, she said,

"This is the hole, there can't be blunder:

What makes it now so small, I wonder,

Where, but the other day, I pass'd with ease?"

A rat her trouble sees,

And cries, "But with an emptier belly;

You enter'd lean, and lean must sally."

The Swan and the Cook

The Swan and the Cook

La Fontaine's fable poem

The pleasures of a poultry yard

Were by a swan and gosling shared.

The swan was kept there for his looks,

The thrifty gosling for the cooks;

The first the garden's pride, the latter

A greater favourite on the platter.

They swam the ditches, side by side,

And oft in sports aquatic vied,

Plunging, splashing far and wide,

With rivalry ne'er satisfied.

One day the cook, named Thirsty John,

Sent for the gosling, took the swan

In haste his throat to cut,

And put him in the pot.

The bird's complaint resounded

In glorious melody;

Whereat the cook, astounded

His sad mistake to see,

Cried, "What! make soup of a musician!

Please God, I'll never set such dish on.

No, no; I'll never cut a throat

That sings so sweet a note."

'Tis thus, whatever peril may alarm us,

Sweet words will never harm us.

The Wolf turned Shepherd

The Wolf turned Shepherd

La Fontaine's fable poem

A wolf, whose gettings from the flocks

Began to be but few,

Bethought himself to play the fox

In character quite new.

A shepherd's hat and coat he took,

A cudgel for a crook,

Nor e'en the pipe forgot:

And more to seem what he was not,

Himself upon his hat he wrote,

"I'm Willie, shepherd of these sheep."

His person thus complete,

His crook in upraised feet,

The impostor Willie stole upon the keep.

The real Willie, on the grass asleep,

Slept there, indeed, profoundly,

His dog and pipe slept, also soundly;

His drowsy sheep around lay.

As for the greatest number,

Much bless'd the hypocrite their slumber,

And hoped to drive away the flock,

Could he the shepherd's voice but mock.

He thought undoubtedly he could.

He tried: the tone in which he spoke,

Loud echoing from the wood,

The plot and slumber broke;

Sheep, dog, and man awoke.

The wolf, in sorry plight,

In hampering coat bedight,

Could neither run nor fight.

There's always leakage of deceit

Which makes it never safe to cheat.

Whoever is a wolf had better

Keep clear of hypocritic fetter.

The Lion and the Ass Hunting

The Lion and the Ass Hunting

La Fontaine's fable poem

The king of animals, with royal grace,

Would celebrate his birthday in the chase.

'Twas not with bow and arrows,

To slay some wretched sparrows;

The lion hunts the wild boar of the wood,

The antlered deer and stags, the fat and good.

This time, the king, t' insure success,

Took for his aide-de-camp an ass,

A creature of stentorian voice,

That felt much honour'd by the choice.

The lion hid him in a proper station,

And order'd him to bray, for his vocation,

Assured that his tempestuous cry

The boldest beasts would terrify,

And cause them from their lairs to fly.

And, sooth, the horrid noise the creature made

Did strike the tenants of the wood with dread;

And, as they headlong fled,

All fell within the lion's ambuscade.

"Has not my service glorious

Made both of us victorious?"

Cried out the much-elated ass.

"Yes," said the lion; "bravely bray'd!

Had I not known yourself and race,

I should have been myself afraid!"

The donkey, had he dared,

With anger would have flared

At this retort, though justly made;

For who could suffer boasts to pass

So ill-befitting to an ass?

The Wolf Accusing the Fox

The Wolf Accusing the Fox

La Fontaine's fable poem

A wolf, affirming his belief

That he had suffer'd by a thief,

Brought up his neighbour fox--

Of whom it was by all confess'd,

His character was not the best--

To fill the prisoner's box.

As judge between these vermin,

A monkey graced the ermine;

And truly other gifts of Themis

Did scarcely seem his;

For while each party plead his cause,

Appealing boldly to the laws,

And much the question vex'd,

Our monkey sat perplex'd.

Their words and wrath expended,

Their strife at length was ended;

When, by their malice taught,

The judge this judgment brought:

"Your characters, my friends, I long have known,

As on this trial clearly shown;

And hence I fine you both--the grounds at large

To state would little profit--

You wolf, in short, as bringing groundless charge,

You fox, as guilty of it."

Come at it right or wrong, the judge opined

No other than a villain could be fined

The Thieves and the Ass

The Thieves and the Ass

La Fontaine's fable poem

Two thieves, pursuing their profession,

Had of a donkey got possession,

Whereon a strife arose,

Which went from words to blows.

The question was, to sell, or not to sell;

But while our sturdy champions fought it well,

Another thief, who chanced to pass,

With ready wit rode off the ass.

This ass is, by interpretation,

Some province poor, or prostrate nation.

The thieves are princes this and that,

On spoils and plunder prone to fat,--

As those of Austria, Turkey, Hungary.

(Instead of two, I've quoted three--

Enough of such commodity.)

These powers engaged in war all,

Some fourth thief stops the quarrel,

According all to one key,

By riding off the donkey

The Grasshopper and the Ant

The Grasshopper and the Ant

La Fontaine's fable poem

A grasshopper gay

Sang the summer away,

And found herself poor

By the winter's first roar.

Of meat or of bread,

Not a morsel she had!

So a-begging she went,

To her neighbour the ant,

For the loan of some wheat,

Which would serve her to eat,

Till the season came round.

"I will pay you," she saith,

"On an animal's faith,

Double weight in the pound

Ere the harvest be bound."

The ant is a friend

(And here she might mend)

Little given to lend.

"How spent you the summer?"

Quoth she, looking shame

At the borrowing dame.

"Night and day to each comer

I sang, if you please."

"You sang! I'm at ease;

For 'tis plain at a glance,

Now, ma'am, you must dance."