Fables of La Fontaine — Fables CCXXIII and CCXXIV
LOVE AND FOLLY.
All is mysterious with Love,-- His bow and arrow, torch, and wings.
'Tis not a day's work in a grove.
To master these momentous things.
Explain them my poor muse can not;
My object is but, in my way, To tell of Cupid's wretched lot, And how he lost the light of day.
Whether that fate be ill or well For those whom Cupid since has met, Lovers alone can rightly tell: I cannot, though I've felt his net.
Folly and Love together played, One day, before he lost his sight;
But yet, as people will, they strayed From friendship, and got stung by spite.
Disputes are really melancholy!
Love wanted all the gods and men As umpires; but impatient Folly Preferred it settled there and then;
And gave poor Cupid such a blow, That both his pretty eyes were seared.
For blessed sight gave blindness--lo!
Their heaven's blue brightness disappeared.
His mother, Venus, heard his grief, And cried for vengeance, like one mad, On Jove and Nemesis,--in brief, On gods of all kinds, good and bad.
The case, she said, was very strong: Her blind son would require a stick And dog, to help him walk along.
Alas!
for cruel Folly's trick.
The gods poor Cupid's case discussed,-- And boys and girls in love decide, Decreeing that it's only just, Folly should Love in future guide.
FABLE CCXXIV.
THE WOLF AND THE FOX.
How comes this general discontent?
Here is a man, for lack of wit, Longing to live beneath the tent The soldier's longing so to quit.
A certain Fox aspired to be A Wolf: and who's prepared to say The Wolf may not think luxury Consists in the lamb's peaceful play?
It much surprises me to find A poet prince, but eight years old, Who writes prose of a better kind Than I can verse--aye, twenty fold-- Though long experience makes me bold.
The thoughts throughout his fable spread Are not a poet's work, I know.
They're numerous and better said;
Unto a prince the praise we owe.
I play upon a simple pipe: That is my talent--just to please;
But soon my hero, growing ripe, The clarion will make me seize.
I am no prophet, yet I read The starry signs that promise give.
His glorious acts will Homer need;
Homer, alas!
he does not live.
The Fox said to the Wolf, one day, "My dear, I have but old tough hens for my poor cheer!
One wearies of the food; but you feed well, And with less hazard.
I, where people dwell, Slink round, while you keep prudently away.
Teach me your trade, my noble comrade, pray!
Make me the first of all my race who slew A good fat sheep, and took him for a stew!"
"I shall not be ungrateful," the Wolf said;
"'Tis well, I have a brother newly dead;
Put on his skin."
Fox took it, and obeyed.
The Wolf then bid him not to be afraid Of all the mastiffs of the shepherds flock: The Fox learnt of his maxims the whole stock, First blundered much, then studied all he could, And, lastly, well the precepts understood.
Just as he finished, there came passing by A drove of sheep.
He runs at them--they fly.
The new-made Wolf spreads terror everywhere;
And frightened bleatings fill the troubled air.
So in Achilles arms Patroclus came:-- Mothers and old men shudder at his name.
The sheep see fifty wolves; and, in full cry, Dogs, sheep, and shepherds to the village fly.
One only, as a hostage, left behind, Is by the villain seized.
Upon the wind, Just then, came crow of lusty chanticleer: The pupil snapped the fowl, and without fear, Threw by his school-dress, all his task forgot, And ran off, heedless of his future lot.
How useless was this counterfeiting then!
The changed suit hindered not the watchful men.
They follow in his track the self-same day, And when they find him, they are quick to slay.
From your unequalled mind my poor muse drew The story and its moral, plain but true.
FABLE CCXXV.
