Fables of La Fontaine — Fables CLI and CLII

FOR MADEMOISELLE DE SILLERY.

I quitted Æsop, long ago, For pleasant old Boccaccio;

But now a fair Divinity Would once more from Parnassus see Fables in my poor manner; so To answer with a boorish "No," Without a valid, stout excuse, To goddesses would be no use;

Divinities need more than this, And belles especially, I wis.

Her wishes are all queens, you see;

She rules us all, does Sillery;

Who wishes once again to know Of Master Wolf, and Master Crow.

Who can refuse her majesty?

None can deny her.

How can I?

Well, to her mind my stories are Obscure, and too mysterious far;

For, sometimes, even <i>beaux esprits</i> Are puzzled and astray, you see.

Let us, then, write in plainer tune, That she may so decipher soon.

I'll sing of simple shepherds, then, Before I rhyme of wolves again.

Tircis to youthful Amaranth, one day, Said, "Ah!

but if you knew the griefs that slay!

Pleasing enchantments!

Heaven-kindled woe!

The greatest joy of earth you then would know.

Oh, let me picture them!

you need not fear.

Could I deceive you?

Stay, then, sweet, and hear.

What!

I betray?

--I, whose poor heart is cleft By fondest hopes that cruel Love has left?"

Then Amaranth exclaimed, "What is this pain?

How call you it?

--now, tell me once again!"

"'Tis Love!"

"A pretty word, its symptoms tell: How shall I know it--I, who am so well?"

"A malady, to which all pleasant things-- Yes, even all the pleasures of great kings-- Seem poor and faded.

Lovers thus are known: In gloomy forests they will walk alone;

Muse by the river, watch the stream beside, Yet their own faces rise not from the tide;

One image only in the flood shows day by day;

This lovely shadow comes, but to betray: To other things they're blind.

A shepherd speaks;

His voice, his name, raise blushes on your cheeks: You like to think of him, yet know not why;

You wonder at the wish, and yet you sigh;

You fear to see him, and yet, absent, cry."

Amaranth leaped for joy: "Is this, then, love?

Is that the pain you rank all things above?

It is not new to me: I think I know it."

Tircis thought he was safe, but dared not show it.

The maid said, "Yes, and that, I freely grant, Is what I feel for dear, dear Clidamant."

Then Tircis almost burst with rage and spite;

But yet it served the cheating fellow right.

Thinking to gain the prize, he lost the game, And only cleared the road for him who came.

FABLE CLII.

THE JOKER AND THE FISHES.

He's vastly popular, your "Funny Man;"

For <i>my</i> part I avoid him when I can.

I generally find him rather hollow;-- The joker's is no easy art to follow.

I think sarcastic people were created For fools to grin at, when exhilarated.

Let me present one at a dinner-table, To point a moral and adorn a fable.

A wag, dining out at a banker's, one day, Had some very small fishes put near him.

He saw there were finer ones farther away, So, pretending the fishes could hear him, He mutter'd some words to the poor little creatures, And feign'd to receive their replies.

It was done with such grave and unchangeable features, That people all opened their eyes.

Then he said that some very particular friend Was <i>en route</i> for the Indies, or thereabouts;

And he feared he might come to a watery end, So he wanted some hints of his whereabouts.

"The fishes had answered," he added, politely, "That <i>they</i> were too young to reply;

But they fancied their fathers could answer him rightly, Should one of them chance to be by."

To say that the company relished the jest, Or the jester, is more than I'm able;

But it answered his end, for they gave him the best Of the fishes that lay on the table.

'Twas a monster that might have related him stories As much as a century old;

Long tales of the sea, of its perils and glories, As wondrous as ever were told.

FABLE CLIII.