Fables of La Fontaine — Fables XXVII and XXVIII
THE LION AND THE GNAT.
"Go, paltry insect, refuse of the earth!"
Thus said the Lion to the Gnat one day.
The Gnat held the Beast King as little worth;
Immediate war declared--no joke, I say.
"Think you I care for Royal name?
I care no button for your fame;
An ox is stronger far than you, Yet oxen often I pursue."
This said; in anger, fretful, fast, He blew his loudest trumpet blast, And charged upon the Royal Nero, Himself a trumpet and a hero.
The time for vengeance came;
The Gnat was not to blame.
Upon the Lion's neck he settled, glad To make the Lion raving mad;
The monarch foams: his flashing eye Rolls wild.
Before his roaring fly All lesser creatures; close they hide To shun his cruelty and pride: And all this terror at The bite of one small Gnat, Who changes every moment his attack, First on the mouth, next on the back;
Then in the very caverns of the nose, Gives no repose.
The foe invisible laughed out, To see a Lion put to rout;
Yet clearly saw That tooth nor claw Could blood from such a pigmy draw.
The helpless Lion tore his hide, And lashed with furious tail his side;
Lastly, quite worn, and almost spent, Gave up his furious intent.
With glory crowned, the Gnat the battle-ground Leaves, his victorious trump to sound, As he had blown the battle charge before, Still one blast for the conquest more.
He flies now here, now there, To tell it everywhere.
Alas!
it so fell out he met A spider's ambuscaded net, And perished, eaten in mid-air.
What may we learn by this?
why, two things, then: First, that, of enemies, the smaller men Should most be dreaded; also, secondly, That passing through great dangers there may be Still pitfalls waiting for us, though too small to see.
FABLE XXVIII.
THE ASS LADEN WITH SPONGES, AND THE ASS LADEN WITH SALT.
A Peasant, like a Roman Emperor bearing His sceptre on his shoulder, proudly Drove his two steeds with long cars, swearing At one of them, full often and full loudly.
The first, with sponges laden, fast and fleet Moved well its feet: The second (it was hardly its own fault) Bore bags of salt.
O'er mountain, dale, and weary road.
The weary pilgrims bore their load, Till to a ford they came one day;
They halted there With wondering air;
The driver knowing very well the way, Leaped on the Ass the sponges' load that bore, And drove the other beast before.
That Ass in great dismay Fell headlong in a hole;
Then plashed and scrambled till he felt The lessening salt begin to melt;
His shoulders soon had liberty, And from their heavy load were free.
His comrade takes example from his brother, As sheep will follow one another;
Up to his neck the creature plunges Himself, his rider, and the sponges;
All three drank deep, the man and Ass Tipple together many a glass.
The load seemed turned to lead;
The Ass, now all but dead, Quite failed to gain the bank: his breath Was gone: the driver clung like death Till some one came, no matter who, and aid.
Enough, if I have shown by what I've said, That all can't act alike, you know;
And this is what I wished to show.
