Fables of La Fontaine — Fables CLIII and CLIV

THE RAT AND THE OYSTER.

A Rustic Rat, of mighty little sense, Weary of home, would needs go travel thence;

And quitted the paternal hearth, one day, To study life in places far away.

At each wide prospect, hitherto unscanned, He murmured, "Oh, how beautiful!

how grand!

Yon mount is Caucasus, begirt with pines;

That range, methinks, must be the Apennines."

For every molehill, to his wondering eyes, Became a mountain of terrific size.

He reached a province of the land, at last, Where Tethys, deity of seas, had cast Some Oysters on the sand, which looked at least Like first-rate frigates to our simple beast.

"My father is a timid soul," he said, "Who fears to travel: what an empty dread!

As to myself, what marvels I have seen;

What scores of wonders, earthly and marine!"

Thus boasted he, in magisterial tone, And boasted loud, though speaking all alone.

Most rats, I beg to say, are more discreet, And use their lips but when they wish to eat.

Meanwhile, one Oyster--a luxurious one-- With shells apart, was basking in the sun.

Tasting the balmy breeze, it lay agape,-- A fine fat morsel of seductive shape.

The Rat, with moistenings of the under lip (Mistaking still the Oyster for a ship), Ran up, and, smelling something nice to eat, Prepared, straightway, his grinders for a treat.

"The crew," quoth he, "have left a feast on board,-- A cold collation, fit for any lord;

If it deceive me not, I've got a prize, Or else I do not know the use of eyes."

So saying, Master Rat, resolving well, Peered round the pearly margin of the shell.

It held him fast: the Oyster from his nap Had woke, and sharply shut his treacherous trap.

This all arose from fatal ignorance: The fable's useful to the folks of France,-- Nor France alone: it shows with what surprise The simplest object strikes a booby's eyes.

And notice, oftentimes, for want of wit, The fool, who thinks he's biting, is first bit.

FABLE CLIV.

THE TWO FRIENDS.

Two steadfast Friends lived once in Monomtàpa;

They loved as if really they'd had the same pàpa: What one earned the other earned.

Ah!

for that land;

It's worth ten such countries as ours, understand.

One night, when a deep sleep had fallen on all, And the sun had gone off in the dark, beyond call, One of these worthy men, woke by a nightmare, Ran to his friend, in a shiver, and quite bare.

The other at once takes his purse and his sword, Accosts his companion, and says, "'Pon my word You seldom are up when all other men snore;

You make better use of the night than to pore Over books; but come, tell me, you're ruined at play, Or you have quarrelled with some one; now, speak out, I say.

Here's my sword and my purse; or, if eager to rest On a fond wife's compassionate, fondling breast, Take this slave: she is fair."

"No, no," said the other, "'Twas neither of these things that startled me, brother.

Thanks, thanks for your zeal; 'twas a dream that I had: I saw you appear to me, looking so sad;

I feared you were ill, and ran to you to see: 'Twas that dream, so detestable, brought me to thee."

Which friend loved the most?

--come, reader, speak out!

The question is hard, and leaves matter for doubt.

A true friend is choicest of treasures indeed;

In the depths of your heart he will see what you need: He'll spare you the pain to disclose woes yourself, Indifferent to either his trouble or pelf: A dream, when he loves, or a trifle--mere air-- Will strike him with terror, lest danger be there.