The poetical works of John Godfrey Saxe Household Edition : with illustrations |
 |
|
|
|
|
 | FABLES AND LEGENDS OF MANY COUNTRIES.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The poetical works of John Godfrey Saxe |  |
FABLES AND LEGENDS OF MANY COUNTRIES.
TO MY THREE DAUGHTERS, THIS LITTLE BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
LOVE AND JOY.
AN ALLEGORY.
Long, long ago, ere Sin had come
To make the earth forlorn,
Somewhere, within an Eastern home,
Two pretty babes were born.
To make the earth forlorn,
Somewhere, within an Eastern home,
Two pretty babes were born.
The younger was a maiden fair,
The elder was a boy;
And, for their names, the infant pair
Were christened Love and Joy.
The elder was a boy;
And, for their names, the infant pair
Were christened Love and Joy.
And as they grew in years and strength,
Together they would rove
As merry mates, until at length
Joy seemed the twin of Love!
Together they would rove
As merry mates, until at length
Joy seemed the twin of Love!
And so, at length, it came to pass
That all the neighbors said,
Some happy day the lad and lass
Were certain to be wed.
That all the neighbors said,
Some happy day the lad and lass
Were certain to be wed.
In sooth, such happy mates they seemed,
And so attached at heart,—
The pretty pair,—who would have deemed
That they would ever part?
And so attached at heart,—
The pretty pair,—who would have deemed
That they would ever part?
But so it fell; alas, the wrong!
And woe betide the day
That Sin, the monster! came along
And frightened Joy away!
And woe betide the day
181
And frightened Joy away!
And so poor Love, when Joy had flown,
Since he could not abide
To live unwedded and alone,
Took Sorrow for his bride;
Since he could not abide
To live unwedded and alone,
Took Sorrow for his bride;
As sad a bride as e'er was seen
To grace a marriage-bed;
With scowling brow and murky mien,
And cypress round her head.
To grace a marriage-bed;
With scowling brow and murky mien,
And cypress round her head.
And to the twain a child was born,
That bore of each a part,—
The mother's countenance forlorn,
The father's tender heart.
That bore of each a part,—
The mother's countenance forlorn,
The father's tender heart.
“Pity,” they called her,—gentle child;
And from her infant days
Her voice was ever sweet and mild,
And winning were her ways.
And from her infant days
Her voice was ever sweet and mild,
And winning were her ways.
And once, ere she had learned to walk,
While in her cradle-nest,
A dove, that fled the cruel hawk,
Sought safety on her breast.
While in her cradle-nest,
A dove, that fled the cruel hawk,
Sought safety on her breast.
The robin-redbreast came to seek
A home where Pity dwelt;
And all things timorous and weak
Her kind compassion felt.
A home where Pity dwelt;
And all things timorous and weak
Her kind compassion felt.
Ah, sweet, sad face! her mixed descent
Was shown in her attire,
And with the mother's cypress blent
The myrtle of her sire.
Was shown in her attire,
And with the mother's cypress blent
The myrtle of her sire.
And ever since to woman's height
The maiden grew, she roams
Through all the world, an angel bright,
To gladden human homes.
The maiden grew, she roams
Through all the world, an angel bright,
To gladden human homes.
Her office still to follow where
Her mother's feet have strayed,
And soothe and heal, with tender care,
The wounds the dame has made.
Her mother's feet have strayed,
And soothe and heal, with tender care,
The wounds the dame has made.
But both are mortal, sages write,
And so they both must die;
Sorrow, at last, will cease to smite,
And Pity cease to sigh.
And so they both must die;
Sorrow, at last, will cease to smite,
And Pity cease to sigh.
And then will Joy return, they say,
From heaven, where she had flown,
And Love, forever and for aye,
Be married to his own.
From heaven, where she had flown,
And Love, forever and for aye,
Be married to his own.
THE TWO CHURCH-BUILDERS
AN ITALIAN LEGEND.
A famous king would build a church,
A temple vast and grand;
And, that the praise might be his own,
He gave a strict command
That none should add the smallest gift
To aid the work he planned.
A temple vast and grand;
And, that the praise might be his own,
He gave a strict command
That none should add the smallest gift
To aid the work he planned.
And when the mighty dome was done,
Within the noble frame,
Upon a tablet broad and fair,
In letters all aflame
With burnished gold, the people read
The royal builder's name.
Within the noble frame,
Upon a tablet broad and fair,
In letters all aflame
With burnished gold, the people read
The royal builder's name.
Now when the King, elate with pride,
That night had sought his bed,
He dreamed he saw an angel come
(A halo round his head),
Erase the royal name, and write
Another in its stead.
That night had sought his bed,
He dreamed he saw an angel come
(A halo round his head),
Erase the royal name, and write
Another in its stead.
What could it mean? Three times that night
That wondrous vision came;
Three times he saw that angel hand
Erase the royal name,
And write a woman's in its stead,
In letters all aflame.
That wondrous vision came;
Three times he saw that angel hand
Erase the royal name,
And write a woman's in its stead,
In letters all aflame.
Whose could it be? He gave command
To all about his throne
To seek the owner of the name
That on the tablet shone;
And so it was the courtiers found
A widow poor and lone.
To all about his throne
To seek the owner of the name
That on the tablet shone;
And so it was the courtiers found
A widow poor and lone.
The King, enraged at what he heard,
Cried, “Bring the culprit here!”
And to the woman trembling sore
He said, “'T is very clear
That you have broken my command;
Now let the truth appear!”
Cried, “Bring the culprit here!”
And to the woman trembling sore
He said, “'T is very clear
That you have broken my command;
Now let the truth appear!”
“Your Majesty,” the Widow said,
“I can't deny the truth;
I love the Lord,—my Lord and yours,—
And so, in simple sooth,
I broke your Majesty's command
(I crave your royal ruth!)
“I can't deny the truth;
I love the Lord,—my Lord and yours,—
And so, in simple sooth,
I broke your Majesty's command
(I crave your royal ruth!)
“And since I had no money, Sire,
Why, I could only pray
That God would bless your Majesty;
And when along the way
The horses drew the stones, I gave
To one a wisp of hay!”
Why, I could only pray
182
And when along the way
The horses drew the stones, I gave
To one a wisp of hay!”
“Ah! now I see,” the King exclaimed,
“Self-glory was my aim;
The woman gave for love of God,
And not for worldly fame;
'T is my command the tablet bear
The pious widow's name!”
“Self-glory was my aim;
The woman gave for love of God,
And not for worldly fame;
'T is my command the tablet bear
The pious widow's name!”
THE WIND AND THE ROSE.
AN APOLOGUE.
I.
A little red Rose bloomed all aloneIn a hedge by the highway side;
And the Wind came by with a pitying moan,
And thus to the floweret cried:
II.
“You are choked with dust from the sandy ledge;Now see what a friend can do!
I will pierce a hole in the tangled hedge
And let the breeze come through.”
III.
“Nay, let me be, I am well enough!”Said the Rose in deep dismay;
But the Wind is always rude and rough,
And of course he had his way.
IV.
And the breeze blew soft on the little red Rose,But now she was sore afraid,
For the naughty boys, her ancient foes,
Came through where the gap was made.
V.
“I see,” said the Wind, when he came again,And looked at the trembling flower,
“You are out of place; it is very plain
You are meant for a lady's bower.”
VI.
“Nay, let me be!” said the shuddering Rose;“No sorrow I ever had known
Till you came here to break my repose;
Now, please to let me alone!”
VII.
But the will of the Wind is strong as death,And little he recked her cries;
He plucked her up with his mighty breath,
And away to the town he flies.
VIII.
Oh, all too rough was the windy rideFor a Rose so weak and small;
And soon her leaves on every side
Began to scatter and fall.
IX.
“Now, what is this?” said the wondering Wind,As the Rose in fragments fell;
“This paltry stem is all I find,—
I am sure I meant it well!”
X.
“It means just this: that a meddling friend,”Said the dying stalk, “is sure
To mar the matter he aimed to mend,
And kill where he meant to cure!”
THE BEACON-LIGHT.
A GERMAN LEGEND.
I.
Go seaward, son, and bear a light!”Up spoke the sailor's wife;
“Thy father sails this stormy night
In peril of his life.
II.
“His ship that sailed to foreign landsThis hour may heave in sight.
Oh, should it wreck upon the sands!
Go, son, and bear a light!”
III.
He lights a torch and seaward goes;Naught boots the deed, I doubt.
The rain it rains, the wind it blows;
And soon the light goes out.
IV.
The boy comes back: “O mother dearBid me not go again;
183
Before the wind and rain!”
V.
“No sailor's blood hast thou, I trow,To fear a stormy night;
Let rains descend, let tempests blow,
Go, son, and bear a light!”
VI.
Once more he lights the torch, and goesToward the foaming main.
The rain it rains, the wind it blows;
Out goes the torch again!
VII.
The boy comes back: “O mother dear,The storm puts out the light;
The night is drear, and much I fear
The woman dressed in white!”
VIII.
“No sailor's blood hast thou, I trow,To tremble thus before
A mermaid's face. Take heart of grace,
And seek again the shore!”
IX.
The boy comes back: “O mother dear,Go thou unto the strand;
My father's voice I sure did hear
In tones of stern command!”
X.
And now the mother lights the torch,And, see! the kindling rays
Have caught the thatch! from roof to porch
The hut is all ablaze!
XI.
“What hast thou done?” the urchin cries;“Oh piteous sight to see!
Cold is the night; Oh wretched plight!
Nor house nor home have we!”
XII.
“No sailor's blood hast thou, I wis.When torches fail to burn,
A blazing hovel—such as this—
May serve as good a turn!”
XIII.
Joy to the sailor! see! he clearsThe shoals on either hand,
Thanks to the light! and now he steers safety to the land!
KING ERIC'S TRIUMPH.
FROM THE GERMAN OF SEIDL.
I.
At Upsala's high altar,The tallest in the land,
And bright with blazing candles,
See royal Eric stand.
And thus he speaks to Heaven,
With lifted voice and hand:
II.
“Great God! in Thy protectionWe ever safely dwell;
Who makes the Lord his refuge
Hath wisely done and well.”
And hark! the lofty anthem
The choir and organ swell.
III.
Now while the dome is soundingWith this triumphant strain,
In comes a panting courier,
“O King! the Dane! the Dane!
Skalater and his soldiers
Are pouring on the plain!”
IV.
But as on ears unheedingThe startling message fell;
King Eric still is chanting,
While choir and organ swell,
“Who makes the Lord his refuge
Hath wisely done and well!”
V.
In bursts another courier,Hot messenger of Fate,—
“The Dane! the Dane approaches!
O King, no longer wait!
Fly! seek some surer refuge;
The Dane is at the gate!”
VI.
What though a hundred voicesThe tale of terror tell?
King Eric still is chanting,
While choir and organ swell,
“Who makes the Lord his refuge
Hath wisely done and well!”
184
VII.
In comes another courier,But ere his voice he found
To tell his tale of horror,
He feels a mortal wound;
Beneath a Danish sabre,
His head is on the ground.
VIII.
Then rose a fearful clamor,That drowned the Danish drums:
“With seven hundred soldiers,
The fiend, Skalater, comes!
Where now are king and country,
Our altars and our homes?”
IX.
'T was then the pious monarch(As holy books declare)
Took up the golden crucifix,
And waved it in the air,
And called upon the God of Hosts
In agonizing prayer.
X.
And from the seven sacred wounds(One for each bleeding gash
That in his death the Saviour bore)
Came forth a blinding flash;
In splendor full a hundred-fold,
The heathen to abash.
XI.
Whereat seven hundred Danish menIn humble worship fell;
While Eric and his people all
The solemn anthem swell,
“Who makes the Lord his refuge
Hath wisely done and well!”
THE BRAHMIN'S AIR-CASTLE.
A HINDOO FABLE.
A brahmin, haughty, indolent, and poor,
Entered, one day, a potter's open door,
And, lying lazily upon the ground
Among the earthen-ware that stood around
In stately pyramids, at length began
To think aloud; and thus his fancies ran:
“With these small coins within my pocket, I
Some pieces of this useful ware will buy,
Which, at a profit, I will sell, and then
Will purchase more; and, turning this again
In the same fashion, I will buy and sell
Until my growing trade will thrive so well
That I shall soon be rich; so rich, indeed,
That I can buy whatever I may need
For use or luxury. And first of all
I'll build a mansion, very grand and tall;
And then, of course, as suits a man of taste,
I'll have four wives, all beautiful and chaste.
But one in beauty will excel the rest,
And her, 't is certain, I shall love the best;
Whereat the others (I foresee it) will
Be jealous, and behave extremely ill;
Whereat, as they deserve, I shall be quick
To beat the vixens well with this good stick.”
And in his reverie the fellow struck
Among the pots and pans, (woe worth the luck!)
With so much force they fell, and all around
His foolish head the pieces strewed the ground.
So fell the Brahmin's castle in the air;
And, further still, to make the matter square,
And mend the damage done that luckless day,
With all he had the potter made him pay.
Entered, one day, a potter's open door,
And, lying lazily upon the ground
Among the earthen-ware that stood around
In stately pyramids, at length began
To think aloud; and thus his fancies ran:
“With these small coins within my pocket, I
Some pieces of this useful ware will buy,
Which, at a profit, I will sell, and then
Will purchase more; and, turning this again
In the same fashion, I will buy and sell
Until my growing trade will thrive so well
That I shall soon be rich; so rich, indeed,
That I can buy whatever I may need
For use or luxury. And first of all
I'll build a mansion, very grand and tall;
And then, of course, as suits a man of taste,
I'll have four wives, all beautiful and chaste.
But one in beauty will excel the rest,
And her, 't is certain, I shall love the best;
Whereat the others (I foresee it) will
Be jealous, and behave extremely ill;
Whereat, as they deserve, I shall be quick
To beat the vixens well with this good stick.”
And in his reverie the fellow struck
Among the pots and pans, (woe worth the luck!)
With so much force they fell, and all around
His foolish head the pieces strewed the ground.
So fell the Brahmin's castle in the air;
And, further still, to make the matter square,
And mend the damage done that luckless day,
With all he had the potter made him pay.
L'ENVOI.
This clever Hindoo fable, which (I'm toldBy grave savans) is many centuries old,
Bears its own moral, plain as any print;
And furnishes, besides, a lively hint
Whence came that very charming modern tale,
“The Country Maiden and her Milking Pail!”
185
REASON AND VANITY.
AN APOLOGUE.
“Appeal to Reason!” writes a sage
Whose book, on many a glowing page,
Would teach the reader to control
The workings of the human soul.
The plan, no doubt, is often wise,
But, should it fail, let me advise
('T is safe to try it!) an appeal
The hardest heart is sure to feel;
When Reason turns away her ear,
Who knows but Vanity may hear?
Whose book, on many a glowing page,
Would teach the reader to control
The workings of the human soul.
The plan, no doubt, is often wise,
But, should it fail, let me advise
('T is safe to try it!) an appeal
The hardest heart is sure to feel;
When Reason turns away her ear,
Who knows but Vanity may hear?
As Chloe stood, one summer's day,—
Young, giddy, handsome, vain, and gay,—
Before her mirror, and essayed
Her native charms by art to aid,
A vagrant bee came buzzing round,
And Chloe, frightened at the sound,
Cried, “Mary, help! Go, Lizzie, fetch
A broom and kill the little wretch!”
Too late! despite the bustling maids,
The wanton imp at once invades
Poor Chloe's lip,—the saucy thing!
And fixes there his ugly sting.
The culprit caught, the maids prepare
To kill the monster then and there;
When, trembling for his life, the Bee
Makes this extenuating plea:
Young, giddy, handsome, vain, and gay,—
Before her mirror, and essayed
Her native charms by art to aid,
A vagrant bee came buzzing round,
And Chloe, frightened at the sound,
Cried, “Mary, help! Go, Lizzie, fetch
A broom and kill the little wretch!”
Too late! despite the bustling maids,
The wanton imp at once invades
Poor Chloe's lip,—the saucy thing!
And fixes there his ugly sting.
The culprit caught, the maids prepare
To kill the monster then and there;
When, trembling for his life, the Bee
Makes this extenuating plea:
“Forgive! O beauteous queen, forgive
My sad mistake; for, as I live,
Your mouth (I'm sorry, Goodness knows!)
I surely took it for a rose!”
“Poor insect!” Chloe sighed, “I vow
'T were very hard to kill him now,
No harm the little fellow meant,
And then he seems so penitent;
Besides the pain was very small,
I scarcely feel it now at all!”
My sad mistake; for, as I live,
Your mouth (I'm sorry, Goodness knows!)
I surely took it for a rose!”
“Poor insect!” Chloe sighed, “I vow
'T were very hard to kill him now,
No harm the little fellow meant,
And then he seems so penitent;
Besides the pain was very small,
I scarcely feel it now at all!”
WHO SHALL SHUT THE DOOR?
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.
To-morrow is St. Martin's day,
And Goody, loving elf,
Has baked some puddings for her man,
And put them on the shelf.
And Goody, loving elf,
Has baked some puddings for her man,
And put them on the shelf.
Now both are lying snug in bed,
And while the west-winds roar
Old Gaffer unto Goody says,
“Go, shut that slamming door!”
And while the west-winds roar
Old Gaffer unto Goody says,
“Go, shut that slamming door!”
“I wish to rest,” the dame replies,
“Till morning's light appears;
For aught I care, that crazy door
May slam a hundred years!”
“Till morning's light appears;
For aught I care, that crazy door
May slam a hundred years!”
With this the loving pair agreed
(Since neither of them stirred)
That he, or she, should bolt the door
Who first should speak a word!
(Since neither of them stirred)
That he, or she, should bolt the door
Who first should speak a word!
Two vagabonds, at midnight, found
The door was off the latch,
And not a single sight or sound
Their eyes or ears could catch.
The door was off the latch,
And not a single sight or sound
Their eyes or ears could catch.
They entered in, and spoke aloud,
But no one answered. Why?
The bargain stopped the only mouths
That could have made reply!
But no one answered. Why?
The bargain stopped the only mouths
That could have made reply!
The puddings soon were eaten up,
As Goody plainly heard,
And cursed the robbers in her heart,
But uttered not a word.
As Goody plainly heard,
And cursed the robbers in her heart,
But uttered not a word.
And soon one vagabond exclaims,
“I 'd like a sip of gin;
This cupboard smells extremely nice,
I'll poke about within.
“I 'd like a sip of gin;
This cupboard smells extremely nice,
I'll poke about within.
“A flask of schnapps, I'm very sure,
Is at my elbow here;
A hearty swig, to thirsty souls,
Is mighty pleasant cheer!”
Is at my elbow here;
A hearty swig, to thirsty souls,
Is mighty pleasant cheer!”
Up sprang old Gaffer in a trice:
“Hein! what is that you say?
The man who steals my Holland schnapps
Shall dearly rue the day!”
“Hein! what is that you say?
The man who steals my Holland schnapps
Shall dearly rue the day!”
Off go the rogues, and Goody cries,
With something like a roar,
“Old Gaffer, you have spoken first!
Now go and bolt the door!”
With something like a roar,
“Old Gaffer, you have spoken first!
Now go and bolt the door!”
HOW IT CHANCED.
AN ORIENTAL APOLOGUE.
I.
Dame Nature, when her work was done,And she had rested from creation.
186
To fix for each his life's duration.
II.
The ass came first, but drooped his earsOn learning that the dame intended
That he should bear for thirty years
His panniers ere his labor ended.
III.
So Nature, like a gentle queen(The story goes), at once relented,
And changed the thirty to eighteen,
Wherewith the ass was well contented.
IV.
The dog came next, but plainly saidSo long a life could be but hateful;
So Nature gave him twelve instead,
Whereat the dog was duly grateful.
V.
Next came the ape; but Nature whenHe grumbled, like the dog and donkey,
Instead of thirty gave him ten,
Which quite appeased the angry monkey.
VI.
At last came man; how brief appearsThe term assigned, for work or pleasure!
“Alas!” he cried, “but thirty years?
O Nature, lengthen out the measure!”
VII.
“Well then, I give thee eighteen more(The ass's years); art thou contented?”
“Nay,” said the beggar, “I implore
A longer term.” The dame consented.
VIII.
“I add the dog's twelve years beside.”“'T is not enough!” “For thy persistence,
I add ten more,” the dame replied,
“The period of the ape's existence.”
IX.
And thus of man's threescore and ten,The thirty years at the beginning
Are his of right, and only then
He wins whate'er is worth the winning
X.
Then come the ass's eighteen years,A weary space of toil and trouble,
Beset with crosses, cares, and fears,
When joys grow less, and sorrows double.
XI.
The dog's twelve years come on, at length,When man, the jest of every scorner,
Bereft of manhood's pride and strength,
Sits growling, toothless, in a corner.
XII.
At last, the destined term to fill,The ape's ten years come lagging after,
And man, a chattering imbecile,
Is but a theme for childish laughter.
THE THREE MASKS.
FROM THE GERMAN OF HARING.
I.
Upon the monarch's brow no shade is shown;The royal purple hides the bloody throne;
He calls his vassals all,—the man of sin,—
“Bring forth the maskers! let the dance begin!”
II.
The music sounds, and every face is glad,—All save the King's, and that is something sad;
And, lo three snow-white masks are passing now,
And dark clouds gather on the monarch's brow.
III.
In robes of red the maskers now are seen,And black as midnight is the royal mien,
In sable mantles next the three appear,
And the king's face is white with sudden fear.
187
IV.
And now before the throne, with deep dismay,He sees three grinning skulls in grim array;
Whereat he falls in terror from his throne!
The masks have fled, and left him there alone.
V.
He calls his vassals: “Let each villain bareHis visage!” No, no juggling rogue is there!
He calls his page: “Now, fellow, get thee gone,
And bring the Soothsayer ere to-morrow's dawn!”
VI.
“Go tell the King,” the Wise Man made reply,“He sends too late. God answers him, not I!
When mortals look on visions such as this,
Their own hearts tell them what the meaning is.
VII.
“The first skull,” quoth the reverend Sage, “declaresHow rank corruption rules the king's affairs;
The second says, ‘Since corpses prop thy throne,
Mankind shall gaze with horror on thine own!’
VIII.
“The third proclaims that whosoe'er has seenThe other twain, before the morrow e'en
Shall be the like himself! Beware, I say,
Beware the sable maskers in the play!”
IX.
Swift flies, at morn, the panting page to bringThe fearful message to the waiting king;
White lies the monarch in his robes of red,
On a black bier; for lo! the king is dead!
THE GHOST IN ARMOR.
A LEGEND OF ST. MICHAEL'S EVE.
PART FIRST.
Sir Walter De Guyon is surly and sad,
There 's trouble a-brewing, I think;
The Steward is certain Sir Walter is mad,
And the Butler declares, “He is took very bad,—
This morning he doubled his drink!”
There 's trouble a-brewing, I think;
The Steward is certain Sir Walter is mad,
And the Butler declares, “He is took very bad,—
This morning he doubled his drink!”
And why is he ranting and raving, I pray,
And calling his daughter such names?
He stands by the Green in the sturdiest way;
And Alice has mounted the Orange today,
And laughed at the runaway James!
And calling his daughter such names?
He stands by the Green in the sturdiest way;
And Alice has mounted the Orange today,
And laughed at the runaway James!
And then Sir Walter has heard beside,
From one of his vigilant spies,
How Alice his daughter, his darling and pride,
With young De Ruyter, last evening, was spied,—
You may guess at the knight's surprise!
From one of his vigilant spies,
How Alice his daughter, his darling and pride,
With young De Ruyter, last evening, was spied,—
You may guess at the knight's surprise!
Beneath the casement the maiden was seen,
With this gay gallant at her feet;
Holding her hand his own between,
And calling her “love,” and “life,” and “queen,”
With kisses many and sweet!
With this gay gallant at her feet;
Holding her hand his own between,
And calling her “love,” and “life,” and “queen,”
With kisses many and sweet!
De Ruyter,—a captain of William's band;
And counted a worthy scion
Of an ancient house in the Dutchman's land;
But what is he to offer his hand
To one of the race De Guyon?
And counted a worthy scion
Of an ancient house in the Dutchman's land;
But what is he to offer his hand
To one of the race De Guyon?
De Ruyter,—“a squire of low degree,”
And an anti-Jacobite war-man;
And what is he, whoever he be,
To match his de with the mighty De
That was known before “the Norman”?
And an anti-Jacobite war-man;
And what is he, whoever he be,
To match his de with the mighty De
That was known before “the Norman”?
188
“The saucy varlet!” Sir Walter said;
“The fellow deserves to swing;
Before my castle to show his head!
I'll serve the dog as I 'd like instead
To serve his villainous king!”
“The fellow deserves to swing;
Before my castle to show his head!
I'll serve the dog as I 'd like instead
To serve his villainous king!”
In vain the maiden bemoans his fate;
Already the fierce Sir Walter
Has set his guards at every gate.
He is fain to fly, but all too late;
He is doomed to feel the halter.
Already the fierce Sir Walter
Has set his guards at every gate.
He is fain to fly, but all too late;
He is doomed to feel the halter.
There 's a dismal cell, a dungeon, in sooth,
Hard by the banqueting-room
(Sir Walter de Guyon has little ruth),
And there, alas! the venturous youth,
De Ruyter, is waiting his doom.
Hard by the banqueting-room
(Sir Walter de Guyon has little ruth),
And there, alas! the venturous youth,
De Ruyter, is waiting his doom.
Sir Walter de Guyon is rather elate
At the capital job he has done;
So he summons his friends, the small and the great,
To come and assist at an elegant fête,
Devoted to feasting and fun.
At the capital job he has done;
So he summons his friends, the small and the great,
To come and assist at an elegant fête,
Devoted to feasting and fun.
PART SECOND.
They are eating and drinking with glee,
The guests at this notable feast;
Lords, nobles of every degree,
All merry as merry can be,
With fifty retainers at least.
The guests at this notable feast;
Lords, nobles of every degree,
All merry as merry can be,
With fifty retainers at least.
In the midst of the revelry rose
Sir Walter de Guyon, to say,
“You all are aware, I suppose,
“'T is St. Michael's evening,”—but shows
Some symptoms of fainting away.
Sir Walter de Guyon, to say,
“You all are aware, I suppose,
“'T is St. Michael's evening,”—but shows
Some symptoms of fainting away.
A bottle of Burgundy stood
By chance in the orator's reach,
Which drinking as well as he could,
And swearing the tipple was good,
Sir Walter went on with his speech.
By chance in the orator's reach,
Which drinking as well as he could,
And swearing the tipple was good,
Sir Walter went on with his speech.
“'T was this very night, as you know,
My ancestor, once on a time,
As sundry old chronicles show
('T was ages and ages ago),
Committed a horrible crime.
My ancestor, once on a time,
As sundry old chronicles show
('T was ages and ages ago),
Committed a horrible crime.
“A black-armored knight, it is told,
Who slept in a neighboring room,
Was murdered ('t was thought for his gold),—
The room which now happens to hold
The Dutchman awaiting his doom.
Who slept in a neighboring room,
Was murdered ('t was thought for his gold),—
The room which now happens to hold
The Dutchman awaiting his doom.
“My ancestor noised it about,
The minions of Justice to blind,
That the stranger arose and went out;
But he never could settle the doubt
Why the man left his armor behind.
The minions of Justice to blind,
That the stranger arose and went out;
But he never could settle the doubt
Why the man left his armor behind.
“Belike you have heard it before,—
The credulous peasants believe
His ghost, in the armor he wore,
Comes stalking abroad, as of yore,
On every St. Michael his Eve.”
The credulous peasants believe
His ghost, in the armor he wore,
Comes stalking abroad, as of yore,
On every St. Michael his Eve.”
“What think you?” he laughingly said,
“Perhaps we may see him to night;
As often in books we have read”—
Ah! sees he the ghost of the dead?
Why blanches Sir Walter with fright?
“Perhaps we may see him to night;
As often in books we have read”—
Ah! sees he the ghost of the dead?
Why blanches Sir Walter with fright?
What meaneth that terrible din,
Like the sound of a bursting door?
See! black as the angel of sin,
The Ghost in the Armor comes in,
And marches across the floor!
Like the sound of a bursting door?
See! black as the angel of sin,
The Ghost in the Armor comes in,
And marches across the floor!
Aghast at the horrible sight,
Down, down they tumble, and lay
Spent with terror and fright,
Through all that terrible night,
Quite into the following day!
Down, down they tumble, and lay
Spent with terror and fright,
Through all that terrible night,
Quite into the following day!
Now where is De Ruyter, I pray,
And Alice? (she 's vanished from sight!)
There 's a letter from London to say
The lovers had ridden away
On a saddle and pillion that night.
And Alice? (she 's vanished from sight!)
There 's a letter from London to say
The lovers had ridden away
On a saddle and pillion that night.
His manner of leaving, of course,
His own reprobation had earned;
He owned he was full of remorse
Concerning the armor and horse,
But both should be quickly returned.
His own reprobation had earned;
He owned he was full of remorse
Concerning the armor and horse,
But both should be quickly returned.
And with her good father's consent,
That is, should he kindly invite her,
It was Alice's settled intent
To make him a visit in Lent,
Along with her own De Ruyter!
That is, should he kindly invite her,
It was Alice's settled intent
To make him a visit in Lent,
Along with her own De Ruyter!
189
THE KING AND THE PEASANT.
A SICILIAN TALE.
There lived a man who, from his youth,Was known to all as “Peasant Truth,”
Because 't was said he 'd sooner die
Than tell or hint the smallest lie.
Now, when it happened that the King
Had heard, at last, this wondrous thing,
He bade the peasant come and keep
The royal flock of goats and sheep
(To wit,—one goat, a little lamb
A fine bell-wether, and a ram).
And once a week he went to court
To see the King, and make report
How fared the flock, and truly tell
If each were doing ill or well;
Whereat the King was well content,
And home the happy peasant went.
At last, a wicked courtier—struck
With envy at his neighbor's luck—
Essayed to put him in disgrace,
And gain himself the peasant's place.
“Think you, good Sire, in very sooth,
He never lies,—this Peasant Truth?
He'll lie next Saturday,” he said,
“Or, for a forfeit, take my head!”
“So be it! and I'll lose my own,”
The King replied, “if it be shown,
With all the arts that you may try,
That Peasant Truth can tell a lie!”
And now the wicked courtier fain
Some trick would try his end to gain.
But still he failed to find a plan
To catch at fault the honest man,
Until at last, in sheer despair,
He told his wife (a lady fair
As one in all the world could find,
And cunning, like all womankind)
About the wager he had made,
And all the case before her laid.
“And is that all?” the woman said,
Tossing in scorn her handsome head;
“Leave all to me, and never doubt
That what you wish I'll bring about!”
Next day the crafty dame was seen,
Appareled like a very queen,
And on her brow a diamond star,
That like a meteor blazed afar,
Approaching where the peasant stood
Among his flock. “Now, by the Rood!”
He cried, amazed, “but she is fair
And beautiful beyond compare!”
Then, bowing to the earth, quoth he,
“What may your Highness want with me?
Whate'er you ask, I swear to grant!”
“Ah!” sighed the lady, “much I want
Some roasted wether, else shall I
(Such is my longing!) surely die!”
“Alas!” he said, “just this one thing
I cannot do. I serve the King,
Who owns the wether that you see,
And if I kill him, woe is me!”
Alack the day for Peasant Truth!
His tender soul was moved to ruth;
For, weeping much, and saying still
That she should die, she had her will,
And of roast wether took her fill!
“Ah!” sighed the man when she was gone,
“Alas! the deed that I have done!
To kill the sheep! What shall I say
When I am asked, next Saturday,
‘How fares the wether?’ I will tell
His Majesty the sheep is well.
No, that won't do! I'll even say
A thief has stolen him away.
No, that won't answer. I will feign
Some prowling wolf the sheep has slain.
No, that won't do! Ah! how can I
Look in his face and tell a lie?”
Now when the peasant came to court
On Saturday, to make report,
As was his wont, the King began
His questioning; and thus it ran:
“How is my goat? I prithee tell!”
“The goat, your Majesty, is well!”
“And how 's my ram?” “Good Sire, the ram
Is well and frisky.” “How 's my lamb?”
“He 's well and beautiful, in sooth.”
“And how 's my wether, Peasant Truth?”
Whereat he answered, “O my King,
I hate a lie like—anything.
When on the mountain-side afar
I saw the lady with the star,
My soul was dazzled with her beauty,
And I forgot my loyal duty,
And when she asked for wether's meat,
I killed the sheep, that she might eat.”
“Good!” said the King, “my wager 's won!
This grievous wrong that you have done,
My truthful peasant, I forgive;
In health and wealth long may you live!
While this, your enemy, instead,
Shall justly lose his foolish head.”
190
THE TRAVELER AND HIS FRIENDS.
A GALLIC LEGEND.
A gentleman, about to make
A trip at sea, was begged to take
Commissions for a dozen friends:
One wants a watch; another sends
For wine,—“a very special cask;
And—if it 's not too much to ask—
Some choice cigars; a box will do;
Or, while you 're at it, purchase two.”
Another friend would like a pair
Of boots,—“They 're so much cheaper there”;
A lady friend would have him buy
Some laces,—“If they're not too high”;
Another wants a box of gloves,—
“French kids, you know, are real loves!”
Thus one wants this; another, that;
A book, a bonnet, or a hat;
Enough to make the moody man
(So high their “small commissions” ran
In tale and bulk) repent that he
Had ever thought to cross the sea!
Moreover,—be it here remarked,—
Before the gentleman embarked,
His friends, for fear he might forget
Their little errands, plainly set
Their wishes down in black and white;
A sensible proceeding—quite;
But, as it happened, not a friend
(With one exception) thought to send
The ready money, and to say,
“See, here 's the cash you'll have to pay.”
A trip at sea, was begged to take
Commissions for a dozen friends:
One wants a watch; another sends
For wine,—“a very special cask;
And—if it 's not too much to ask—
Some choice cigars; a box will do;
Or, while you 're at it, purchase two.”
Another friend would like a pair
Of boots,—“They 're so much cheaper there”;
A lady friend would have him buy
Some laces,—“If they're not too high”;
Another wants a box of gloves,—
“French kids, you know, are real loves!”
Thus one wants this; another, that;
A book, a bonnet, or a hat;
Enough to make the moody man
(So high their “small commissions” ran
In tale and bulk) repent that he
Had ever thought to cross the sea!
Moreover,—be it here remarked,—
Before the gentleman embarked,
His friends, for fear he might forget
Their little errands, plainly set
Their wishes down in black and white;
A sensible proceeding—quite;
But, as it happened, not a friend
(With one exception) thought to send
The ready money, and to say,
“See, here 's the cash you'll have to pay.”
The man embarks; sees Paris, Rome,
And other cities; then comes home
Well pleased with much that met his eye;
But, having, somehow, failed to buy
A single thing for any friend,
Except the one who thought to send
The wherewithal. Well, need I say
That soon his neighbors came to pay
Their greetings at his safe return,
And charming health; and (also) learn
About their little errands,—what
For each the traveler had got?
“By Jove!” he said, “it makes me sad
To think what wretched luck I had!
For as at sea I sat one day
Arranging in a proper way
The papers you so kindly sent,
A gale arose, and off they went
Into the ocean; nor could I
Remember aught you bade me buy.”
And other cities; then comes home
Well pleased with much that met his eye;
But, having, somehow, failed to buy
A single thing for any friend,
Except the one who thought to send
The wherewithal. Well, need I say
That soon his neighbors came to pay
Their greetings at his safe return,
And charming health; and (also) learn
About their little errands,—what
For each the traveler had got?
“By Jove!” he said, “it makes me sad
To think what wretched luck I had!
For as at sea I sat one day
Arranging in a proper way
The papers you so kindly sent,
A gale arose, and off they went
Into the ocean; nor could I
Remember aught you bade me buy.”
“But,” grumbled one, “if that were so,
How comes it, sir, you chanced to know
What this man's errand was? for he
Has got what he desired, we see.”
“Faith! so he has,—beyond a doubt;
And this is how it came about:
His memorandum chanced to hold
A certain sum of solid gold;
And thus the paper by its weight
Escaped the others' windy fate.”
How comes it, sir, you chanced to know
What this man's errand was? for he
Has got what he desired, we see.”
“Faith! so he has,—beyond a doubt;
And this is how it came about:
His memorandum chanced to hold
A certain sum of solid gold;
And thus the paper by its weight
Escaped the others' windy fate.”
THE KING'S FAVORITE.
AN ORIENTAL TALE.
A shepherd who was wont to keep
With so much care his flock of sheep,
That not a man in all the plains
Could show the like in fleecy gains,
Was noticed by the king; who said,
“One who so long has wisely led
His woolly charge must surely be
A proper man to oversee
A nobler flock; I make thee, then,
A magistrate,—to govern men!”
“What,” mused the shepherd, “shall I do?
A hermit and a wolf or two
My whole acquaintance constitute
(Except my sheep) of man or brute!
His reason bade the clown decide
Against the place; not so his pride.
Ambition's plea at last prevails,
And lo! the shepherd takes the scales.
With so much care his flock of sheep,
That not a man in all the plains
Could show the like in fleecy gains,
Was noticed by the king; who said,
“One who so long has wisely led
His woolly charge must surely be
A proper man to oversee
A nobler flock; I make thee, then,
A magistrate,—to govern men!”
“What,” mused the shepherd, “shall I do?
A hermit and a wolf or two
My whole acquaintance constitute
(Except my sheep) of man or brute!
His reason bade the clown decide
Against the place; not so his pride.
Ambition's plea at last prevails,
And lo! the shepherd takes the scales.
Soon as his hermit-neighbor heard
What to the shepherd had occurred,
His honest mind he thus expressed:
“'T is surely but a royal jest,
To make of thee, who never saw
A written page of statute law,
Chief Justice of the realm! I deem
The tale is false, or do I dream?
Ah! princely gifts are fatal things;
Beware, I say,—beware of kings!”
What to the shepherd had occurred,
His honest mind he thus expressed:
“'T is surely but a royal jest,
To make of thee, who never saw
A written page of statute law,
Chief Justice of the realm! I deem
The tale is false, or do I dream?
Ah! princely gifts are fatal things;
Beware, I say,—beware of kings!”
The shepherd listens, but the while
His only answer is a smile,
As one whose happiness provokes
The envy of inferior folks.
“Alas!” the hermit cried, “I see
The fabled wagoner in thee,
Who lost his whip, and by mistake
Took up instead a torpid snake,
That, warming in his fingers, stung
The foolish hand to which it clung,
A mortal bite; do thou, my friend,
Beware the like unhappy end!”
And soon indeed the favorite found
The hermit's plain advice was sound.
The Judge, although he did his best,
Was most unequal to the test;
His judgments, set in legal light,
Were quite as often wrong as right;
And, worst of all, around him rose
A crowd of envious, spiteful foes,
Who, one and all, contrive to bring
The blackest slanders to the King,
Who hears, amazed, the story told
Of justice daily bought and sold.
Indeed, his enemies declare,
“His Honor” takes the lion's share,
And with the fruit of bribes alone
Has built a palace of his own.
His only answer is a smile,
As one whose happiness provokes
The envy of inferior folks.
“Alas!” the hermit cried, “I see
The fabled wagoner in thee,
Who lost his whip, and by mistake
191
That, warming in his fingers, stung
The foolish hand to which it clung,
A mortal bite; do thou, my friend,
Beware the like unhappy end!”
And soon indeed the favorite found
The hermit's plain advice was sound.
The Judge, although he did his best,
Was most unequal to the test;
His judgments, set in legal light,
Were quite as often wrong as right;
And, worst of all, around him rose
A crowd of envious, spiteful foes,
Who, one and all, contrive to bring
The blackest slanders to the King,
Who hears, amazed, the story told
Of justice daily bought and sold.
Indeed, his enemies declare,
“His Honor” takes the lion's share,
And with the fruit of bribes alone
Has built a palace of his own.
The King, astounded at his guilt,
Would see the palace he had built;
And finds, when all his search is done,
A modest house of wood and stone.
He opens next the fabled box
Where, fast beneath a dozen locks,
The Judge's famous jewels lie;
But nothing meets the royal eye
Except a shepherd's coat and cap
(The former rent in many a gap),
And—to reward his further look—
A shepherd's rusty pipe and crook.
“O treasure precious to my eyes!”
The Judge exclaims, “from thee arise
No hateful cares, nor envious lies.
These I resume, and learn, though late,
Whoe'er aspires to serve the state
Should first consider well the case,
If he is equal to the place;
And long reflect, before he makes
That most egregious of mistakes,—
One's true vocation weakly spurned,
To serve a trade he never learned.”
Would see the palace he had built;
And finds, when all his search is done,
A modest house of wood and stone.
He opens next the fabled box
Where, fast beneath a dozen locks,
The Judge's famous jewels lie;
But nothing meets the royal eye
Except a shepherd's coat and cap
(The former rent in many a gap),
And—to reward his further look—
A shepherd's rusty pipe and crook.
“O treasure precious to my eyes!”
The Judge exclaims, “from thee arise
No hateful cares, nor envious lies.
These I resume, and learn, though late,
Whoe'er aspires to serve the state
Should first consider well the case,
If he is equal to the place;
And long reflect, before he makes
That most egregious of mistakes,—
One's true vocation weakly spurned,
To serve a trade he never learned.”
THE MERCHANT.
A FABLE.
A merchant once, whom Fortune plied
With favors rare on every side,
Grew rich apace; his ships were safe
Though storms might rave and breakers chafe;
To every clime his bending sails
Were wafted by propitious gales;
While others, good and brave as he,
And no less wise on land or sea,
With varying fortunes often tried
The fierce domain of wind and tide,
And paid, sometimes, a goodly freight
In tribute to the Ocean-Fate.
No hidden reef, nor sudden squall,
Nor deadly calm, most feared of all,
Had e'er consigned his vessels' store
To coral grove or rocky shore.
And more than this (so, it is known,
Fate, when she will, can guard her own),
No agent proved an arrant knave,
No master found a watery grave,
No trusted clerk defaulter turned,
No partner stole what both had earned,
Nor market of a sudden fell
Just when his factor wished to sell.
With favors rare on every side,
Grew rich apace; his ships were safe
Though storms might rave and breakers chafe;
To every clime his bending sails
Were wafted by propitious gales;
While others, good and brave as he,
And no less wise on land or sea,
With varying fortunes often tried
The fierce domain of wind and tide,
And paid, sometimes, a goodly freight
In tribute to the Ocean-Fate.
No hidden reef, nor sudden squall,
Nor deadly calm, most feared of all,
Had e'er consigned his vessels' store
To coral grove or rocky shore.
And more than this (so, it is known,
Fate, when she will, can guard her own),
No agent proved an arrant knave,
No master found a watery grave,
No trusted clerk defaulter turned,
No partner stole what both had earned,
Nor market of a sudden fell
Just when his factor wished to sell.
In short, his wines, tobaccos, teas,
Silks, satins, linens, laces, cheese,
His coffee, sugar, raisins, spice,
Were sure to bring the highest price:
And so it was he came to be
The richest merchant on the sea,
And lived—there 's little need to say—
In such a princely sort of way
The King himself could scarce afford
The gems that decked our merchant-lord.
Silks, satins, linens, laces, cheese,
His coffee, sugar, raisins, spice,
Were sure to bring the highest price:
And so it was he came to be
The richest merchant on the sea,
And lived—there 's little need to say—
In such a princely sort of way
The King himself could scarce afford
The gems that decked our merchant-lord.
A friendly neighbor, much amazed
At all the wealth on which he gazed,
Said, “Tell me, now, how may it be
That you have come to what we see?”
The merchant, smilling, swelled with pride,
And, like a monarch, thus replied:
“How comes it?—plain enough, I trow;
It comes, my friend, of knowing how!”
At all the wealth on which he gazed,
Said, “Tell me, now, how may it be
That you have come to what we see?”
The merchant, smilling, swelled with pride,
And, like a monarch, thus replied:
“How comes it?—plain enough, I trow;
It comes, my friend, of knowing how!”
With growing riches now, indeed,
The trader felt a growing greed,
And giddy with prosperity,
Stakes all he has again at sea.
But now success no longer paid
The heedless risks the merchant made.
One bark was wrecked because her load,
For want of care, was ill bestowed;
Another (lacking arms, they say)
To ruthless pirates fell a prey;
A third came safe, at last, to land
With goods no longer in demand;
In brief, his ventures proved so bad
He soon was stript of all he had,
And now among his fellow-men,
Was but a common man again.
The trader felt a growing greed,
And giddy with prosperity,
Stakes all he has again at sea.
But now success no longer paid
The heedless risks the merchant made.
One bark was wrecked because her load,
For want of care, was ill bestowed;
Another (lacking arms, they say)
To ruthless pirates fell a prey;
A third came safe, at last, to land
With goods no longer in demand;
In brief, his ventures proved so bad
He soon was stript of all he had,
192
Was but a common man again.
Once more his friend inquiry made
Whence came disaster to his trade.
“What brought you to this dismal pass?”
“'T was Fortune,” said the man, “alas!”
“Indeed? Well, well,” the friend replies,
“Although her gold the Dame denies,
She yet may teach you to be wise!”
Whence came disaster to his trade.
“What brought you to this dismal pass?”
“'T was Fortune,” said the man, “alas!”
“Indeed? Well, well,” the friend replies,
“Although her gold the Dame denies,
She yet may teach you to be wise!”
So goes the world! each thankless elf,
Whate'er may be his worldly state,
Imputes his blessings to himself,
And lays his blunders all to Fate.
Whate'er may be his worldly state,
Imputes his blessings to himself,
And lays his blunders all to Fate.
THE FORCE OF EXAMPLE.
A FABLE.
A mother lobster, with her daughter
Conversing near their native water,
And closely watching, as she talked,
The style in which the latter walked,
Rebuked her for her awkward way
Of locomotion: “Tell me, pray,”
The matron scolded, “why instead
Of backward, you don't go ahead?
Such awkwardness! Of course you know
'T is not the proper way to go;
Sure, folks of sense you thus will shock,
And make yourself a laughing-stock!”
“What!” said the child, “do you suppose
I don't know how my mother goes?
Shall I adopt the plan you say,
While all the rest go t' other way?
I really have n't got the face
To change the custom of my race;
It need not put you in a passion,
I merely mean to be in fashion;
And, having learned the way from you,
I'll walk—as other lobsters do.”
Conversing near their native water,
And closely watching, as she talked,
The style in which the latter walked,
Rebuked her for her awkward way
Of locomotion: “Tell me, pray,”
The matron scolded, “why instead
Of backward, you don't go ahead?
Such awkwardness! Of course you know
'T is not the proper way to go;
Sure, folks of sense you thus will shock,
And make yourself a laughing-stock!”
“What!” said the child, “do you suppose
I don't know how my mother goes?
Shall I adopt the plan you say,
While all the rest go t' other way?
I really have n't got the face
To change the custom of my race;
It need not put you in a passion,
I merely mean to be in fashion;
And, having learned the way from you,
I'll walk—as other lobsters do.”
MORAL.
To fix a good or evil course,Example is of potent force;
And they who wish the young to teach
Must even practice what they preach.
THE SHERIFF OF SAUMUR.
A LEGEND.
Once, when the King was traveling throughHis realm, as kings were wont to do
In ancient times when royalty
Was deemed a goodly sight to see,
It chanced the Sheriff of Saumur,
A city in the royal tour,
Was chosen by the magistrates
To meet the monarch at the gates,
And in a handsome speech declare
How glad and proud the people were
To see his Majesty; and say
Such compliments as subjects pay,
As being but the proper thing,
On such occasions, to the King.
“Sire,” said the Sheriff (so the speech
Began, of course), “Sire, we beseech
Your gracious Majesty to hear
The humble words of hearty cheer
With which, great Sire, with which, through me,
The people greet your Majesty.
We are so glad to see you, Sire,
That—that”—And here the speech hung fire.
“So glad—the people of our town—
That—that”—And here the man broke down.
Whereat a courtier said, “I'm sure
These worthy people of Saumur
Are glad, my liege, to see you here;
That seems to me extremely clear;
And don't his Honor's speech confess it?
So glad, indeed, they can't express it.”
THE TWO WALLETS.
Why humankind should ever be
So keen their neighbors' faults to see,
While (wonderful to tell!) their own
Are to themselves almost unknown,
This ancient fable clearly shows:
Once on a time, the story goes,
Great Jove, the wise Olympian King,
Proclaimed to each created thing,
That he would hold a special court
Where all might come and make report
Of aught that each might deem it wise
To change in feature, form, or size.
So keen their neighbors' faults to see,
While (wonderful to tell!) their own
Are to themselves almost unknown,
This ancient fable clearly shows:
Once on a time, the story goes,
Great Jove, the wise Olympian King,
Proclaimed to each created thing,
That he would hold a special court
Where all might come and make report
Of aught that each might deem it wise
To change in feature, form, or size.
193
He promised quickly to redress
All imperfections, large or less;
Whatever error or defect
Each in his person might detect.
First came the Monkey. Naught had he
Of special fault—that he could see!
A paragon of wit and grace,
Who had—almost—a human face!
One seeks a finer form in vain,
Pray, why should such as he complain?
“But look at Brain!” cried the ape;
“Was ever such a clumsy shape?
And then, for life, condemned to wear
That ugly suit of shaggy hair!”
“Nay,” said the bear, “I find my form
As I could wish. My fur is warm,
And looks, I think, extremely fine,
Good Master Ape, compared with thine.
But see the Elephant! his size
Is much too huge; and I advise
(So ludicrous the beast appears)
To stretch his tail, and crop his ears!”
“Nay,” quoth the Elephant, who deems
His figure clear of all extremes,
“I can't complain,—I'm quite content!”
But then he marveled what it meant
The Whale should be so huge and fat!
The Ant was sorry for the Gnat!
The Gnat reproached the tiny Flea!
How could one live so small as she?
Thus all the animals, in turn,
The faults of others could discern;
But not a creature, large or small,
His own defects could see at all.
All imperfections, large or less;
Whatever error or defect
Each in his person might detect.
First came the Monkey. Naught had he
Of special fault—that he could see!
A paragon of wit and grace,
Who had—almost—a human face!
One seeks a finer form in vain,
Pray, why should such as he complain?
“But look at Brain!” cried the ape;
“Was ever such a clumsy shape?
And then, for life, condemned to wear
That ugly suit of shaggy hair!”
“Nay,” said the bear, “I find my form
As I could wish. My fur is warm,
And looks, I think, extremely fine,
Good Master Ape, compared with thine.
But see the Elephant! his size
Is much too huge; and I advise
(So ludicrous the beast appears)
To stretch his tail, and crop his ears!”
“Nay,” quoth the Elephant, who deems
His figure clear of all extremes,
“I can't complain,—I'm quite content!”
But then he marveled what it meant
The Whale should be so huge and fat!
The Ant was sorry for the Gnat!
The Gnat reproached the tiny Flea!
How could one live so small as she?
Thus all the animals, in turn,
The faults of others could discern;
But not a creature, large or small,
His own defects could see at all.
MORAL.
So fares it with the human race,Who, thanks to Heaven's especial grace,
A double wallet always wear,
All sorts of sins and crimes to bear.
Within the pouch that hangs before
The faults of other folks are thrown;
While, safely out of sight, we store
The hinder pocket with our own.
THE GREAT CRAB.
A GERMAN LEGEND.
I.
Near Lake Mohrin 'tis said, by day and night,The folks all tremble with unceasing fright
Lest the Great Crab, we all have heard about,
By some device should manage to get out!
He 's fastened down below, you see,
And in the strongest way;
For, should he happen to get free,
The deuce would be to pay!
II.
An ugly monster of prodigious strength,A mile in breadth and twenty miles in length,
He keeps the water foaming in the lake,
And, once on land, what trouble he would make!
For with his backward motion (so
An ancient seer declares)
All other things would backward go,
Throughout the world's affairs.
III.
The Burgomaster—mightiest of men—Would turn, that day, a sucking child again;
The Judge and Parson, changed to little boys,
Would quit their learned books for tiny toys;
And so with matrons, maids, and men,
All things would be reversed;
And everything go back again
To what it was at first.
IV.
Such mischief to the people! While they eat,Back to the plate will go the smoking meat,
And thence to pot! The bread will turn again
To flour; flour go back once more to grain.
Back to the flax (O sight of shame!)
Will go the linen shirt;
The flax return to whence it came,
A linseed in the dirt.
V.
The timber in the house at once will moveAs trees again back to the primal grove;
The hens will turn to chickens, in a crack,
The chicks into the eggs again go back,
194
At one prodigious crash,
Will knock, as with a threshing-flail,
To everlasting smash!
VI.
Now Heaven defend us from so dire a fate!The world, I think, is doing well of late;
And for the Crab, let all good people pray
That in his lake he evermore may stay!
Else even this poor song (alack!
How very sad to think!)
With all the rest must needs go back,
And be a drop of ink!
LOVE AND FOLLY.
AN ALLEGORY.
Cupid, we know, is painted blind;
The reason it were hard to find,
Unless, indeed, we may suppose
The fable of Lafontaine shows,
Beyond a reasonable doubt,
How the misfortune came about.
The reason it were hard to find,
Unless, indeed, we may suppose
The fable of Lafontaine shows,
Beyond a reasonable doubt,
How the misfortune came about.
'T is said that on a certain day,
As Love and Folly were at play,
They fell into a warm debate
Upon a point of little weight,
Until, so high the quarrel rose,
From angry words they came to blows.
Love, little used to warlike arts
(Save with his famous bow and darts),
Although he fought with all his might,
Was quickly vanquished in the fight;
Miss Folly dealt him such a slap
Across the face, the little chap
Fell in a swoon, and woke to find
He could not see!—the boy was blind!
As Love and Folly were at play,
They fell into a warm debate
Upon a point of little weight,
Until, so high the quarrel rose,
From angry words they came to blows.
Love, little used to warlike arts
(Save with his famous bow and darts),
Although he fought with all his might,
Was quickly vanquished in the fight;
Miss Folly dealt him such a slap
Across the face, the little chap
Fell in a swoon, and woke to find
He could not see!—the boy was blind!
Now when his doting mother came
To know the case, the angry dame
Behaved as any mother might
Whose only son had lost his sight.
Whate'er had caused the dreadful deed,
Malicious aim, or want of heed,
Such wrath in heaven was seldom seen
As Venus showed in speech and mien.
She stunned Olympus with her cries
For vengeance. “What! put out his eyes!
My precious Cupid! Let the jade
Straight down to Orcus be conveyed!
That justice may be duly done
On her who maimed my darling son,
And left the lad, bereaved of sight,
To grope in everlasting night!”
To know the case, the angry dame
Behaved as any mother might
Whose only son had lost his sight.
Whate'er had caused the dreadful deed,
Malicious aim, or want of heed,
Such wrath in heaven was seldom seen
As Venus showed in speech and mien.
She stunned Olympus with her cries
For vengeance. “What! put out his eyes!
My precious Cupid! Let the jade
Straight down to Orcus be conveyed!
That justice may be duly done
On her who maimed my darling son,
And left the lad, bereaved of sight,
To grope in everlasting night!”
While Venus thus for vengeance prayed
On Folly,—thoughtless, hapless maid,—
Great Jove convenes a special court
To hear the case and make report.
In solemn council long they sit
To judge what penalty is fit
The crime to answer; and, beside
Some restitution to provide
(If aught, indeed, they can devise)
For Master Cupid's ruined eyes.
On Folly,—thoughtless, hapless maid,—
Great Jove convenes a special court
To hear the case and make report.
In solemn council long they sit
To judge what penalty is fit
The crime to answer; and, beside
Some restitution to provide
(If aught, indeed, they can devise)
For Master Cupid's ruined eyes.
And thus, at last, it was decreed,
That Folly, for her wicked deed,
In part the damage should restore
By leading Cupid evermore!
That Folly, for her wicked deed,
In part the damage should restore
By leading Cupid evermore!
L'ENVOI.
And so it comes that still we seeThe maid where'er the boy may be;
Love still is blind; and Folly still
Directs the urchin where she will.
LOVE OMNIPOTENT.
A DIALOGUE OF THE GODS.
ACT I.
Scene: Hades.Pluto, Mercury.
Pluto.
My Furies all are getting old, and fill
Their office, I protest, extremely ill;
Go, Mercury, to Earth, and gather there
A score or so; there 's plenty and to spare,
I warrant me, among the womankind,
By use and disposition well designed
For Fury-service of the active sort.
Examine well, and bring me due report.
Mercury.
I'm off at once! I fancy I can find
Fifty, at least, exactly to your mind;
Sharp-tongued, sour-visaged, malice-loving ladies
Whom others than yourself have wished in Hades!
[Exit Mercury
195
ACT II.
Scene: Olympus: Juno's boudoir.Juno, Iris.
Juno.
I'm much annoyed, good Iris, with the airs
Of vaunting Venus,—as if all affairs
In heaven and earth were under her control!
I hear she boasts that scarce a human soul
Is free from her authority; that all
The people in the world are fain to fall
Upon their knees at her command, and own
No equal goddess on the Olympian throne.
Iris.
Is 't possible?
Juno.
Yes, Iris, worse than that,
She and her boy, (a mischief-breeding brat!)
Who aids his mother by his wicked art,
Declare (O shame!) there 's not a female heart
In all the universe—below, above—
Which has not felt the subtle force of love!
An arrant falsehood, spoken just to vex
The Queen of Heaven, and scandalize the sex.
Among the earthly maidens, therefore, go,
And bring me back some evidence to show
That Cytherea says—what is n't so!
Iris.
I fly! and never for a moment doubt
I'll bring you proofs to wipe the slander out.
[Exit Iris.
ACT III.
Scene. same as before. Juno reading.(Enter Iris.)
Iris.
O gracious Queen, I 've had a precious time!
Well, I must say, if love is such a crime
As well I know it is, (the more 's the pity!)
There 's not a place on earth—hamlet or city—
That is n't full of it! In actual life
'T is the chief topic; fiction, too, is rife
With endless talk about it. On the stage,
In poems, songs, 't is everywhere the rage.
Love, love, was still the theme where'er I went,
In court, cot, castle, and the warrior's tent,
Love-knots, love-plots, love-murders!—such a rush
For love-romances in the papers—
Juno.
Hush!
Do stop your prattle, Iris, and confess
You found some souls as yet untainted—
Iris.
Yes!
That is, I heard of three,—three virgin breasts
That never once had throbbed at Love's behests.
Juno.
Of course you brought them with you. Three will prove
All are not vassals to the Queen of Love!
Iris.
Well—no—unluckily, the day before
A royal messenger from Pluto's shore
Took them away to grace his grimy court,
His stock of Furies being something short.
[Juno faints, and curtain falls.
THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE RUSTIC.
A MORAL HOMILY.
A grave philosopher, whose name
To Scythia gave resplendent fame,
Intent his knowledge to increase,
A journey took through classic Greece,
Where, to his profit and delight,
He saw full many a novel sight,
Towers, temples, people,—and much more,
As brave Ulysses did of yore;
But chiefly he was struck to see
A simple man, of low degree,
Untaught in philosophic page,
But in his life a very sage.
His farm, a little patch of land,
He tilled with such a clever hand,
It yielded all he cared to spend,
And something more to treat a friend
To Scythia gave resplendent fame,
Intent his knowledge to increase,
A journey took through classic Greece,
Where, to his profit and delight,
He saw full many a novel sight,
Towers, temples, people,—and much more,
As brave Ulysses did of yore;
But chiefly he was struck to see
A simple man, of low degree,
Untaught in philosophic page,
But in his life a very sage.
His farm, a little patch of land,
He tilled with such a clever hand,
It yielded all he cared to spend,
And something more to treat a friend
Approaching where the rustic now
Was clipping at an apple-bough,
The Scythian gave a wondering look,
To see him wield his pruning-hook,
Here lopping off a withered limb,
There reaching high a branch to trim,
Correcting nature everywhere,
But always with judicious care.
“Sir,” said the Tourist, “tell me why
This wanton waste that meets my eye?
Your husbandry seems rather rough;
Time's scythe will cut them soon enough”
“Nay,” said the Sage, “I only dress
My apple-trees, and curb excess;
Enhancing thus, as seems but wise,
My fruit in sweetness, tale, and size.”
Was clipping at an apple-bough,
The Scythian gave a wondering look,
To see him wield his pruning-hook,
Here lopping off a withered limb,
There reaching high a branch to trim,
196
But always with judicious care.
“Sir,” said the Tourist, “tell me why
This wanton waste that meets my eye?
Your husbandry seems rather rough;
Time's scythe will cut them soon enough”
“Nay,” said the Sage, “I only dress
My apple-trees, and curb excess;
Enhancing thus, as seems but wise,
My fruit in sweetness, tale, and size.”
Returning home the Scythian took
Without delay his pruning-hook,
On all his trees the knife he tried,
And cut and carved on every side,
Nor from his murderous work refrained
Till naught but barren stumps remained.
Without delay his pruning-hook,
On all his trees the knife he tried,
And cut and carved on every side,
Nor from his murderous work refrained
Till naught but barren stumps remained.
MORAL.
This Scythian sage resembles thoseWho deem their passions are their foes;
And who, instead of pruning where
Excess requires the owner's care,
Cut down the tree that God has made
With fierce Repression's cruel blade;
And thus, for future life, destroy
All precious fruit of human joy.
THE GARDENER AND THE KING.
FROM THE GERMAN.
Once on a time, at Erivan,
There dwelt a poor but honest man
Who kept a little garden, where
There grew much fruit, so fine and fair,
So large and juicy, ripe and sound,
'T was known for many leagues around.
One day a neighbor, looking o'er
The autumn's wealth, a goodly store,
Advised the owner thus: “Good man,
Take some of these to Ispahan;
'T will please the King, who, I am told,
Cares more for luxury than gold;
And so your fortune you'll increase
By many a shining golden piece.”
“Faith! so I will!” the man replies
Then to the market-place he hies;
The finest basket he can find
He buys, then stores it to his mind
With choicest fruit of every sort,
And off he starts for king and court.
There dwelt a poor but honest man
Who kept a little garden, where
There grew much fruit, so fine and fair,
So large and juicy, ripe and sound,
'T was known for many leagues around.
One day a neighbor, looking o'er
The autumn's wealth, a goodly store,
Advised the owner thus: “Good man,
Take some of these to Ispahan;
'T will please the King, who, I am told,
Cares more for luxury than gold;
And so your fortune you'll increase
By many a shining golden piece.”
“Faith! so I will!” the man replies
Then to the market-place he hies;
The finest basket he can find
He buys, then stores it to his mind
With choicest fruit of every sort,
And off he starts for king and court.
Arrived, the Marshal asks his name,
And, learning whence and why he came,
He bade him enter. That 's the way
It was in Persia,—and to-day
In every land, except our own,
The same partiality is shown;
The giver finds an open gate,
While he who seeks may stand and wait!
And, learning whence and why he came,
He bade him enter. That 's the way
It was in Persia,—and to-day
In every land, except our own,
The same partiality is shown;
The giver finds an open gate,
While he who seeks may stand and wait!
The King, delighted with the fruit,
Returned his thanks,—and would it suit
The worthy man to bring some more?
Ah, that it would! Was e'er before
A man so lucky? Now, the while
He waits to catch the royal smile,
And get his pay, he stares at all
So new and strange—the lofty hall,
And people there; among the rest,
To put his manners to the test,
An ugly little dwarf he spies,
A hunchback of such paltry size
The gardener laughed aloud. Alack.
“The fellow with the crooked back
And bandy legs!—who could have known
That he in rank was next the throne?
Though small in size, in honor great,
In fact, Prime Minister of State!”
His Honor scowled and looked around,
And on the stranger grimly frowned.
Enough! the guard, who understand
The hint, now take the chap in hand,
And, quicker than you read the tale,
The gardener finds himself in jail!
Returned his thanks,—and would it suit
The worthy man to bring some more?
Ah, that it would! Was e'er before
A man so lucky? Now, the while
He waits to catch the royal smile,
And get his pay, he stares at all
So new and strange—the lofty hall,
And people there; among the rest,
To put his manners to the test,
An ugly little dwarf he spies,
A hunchback of such paltry size
The gardener laughed aloud. Alack.
“The fellow with the crooked back
And bandy legs!—who could have known
That he in rank was next the throne?
Though small in size, in honor great,
In fact, Prime Minister of State!”
His Honor scowled and looked around,
And on the stranger grimly frowned.
Enough! the guard, who understand
The hint, now take the chap in hand,
And, quicker than you read the tale,
The gardener finds himself in jail!
Here, quite forgotten, he remained,
Of light and liberty restrained,
For twelve long months; and might, no doubt,
Have been still longer getting out,
Had not the king, grown hard to suit,
Made mention of the finer fruit
The stranger brought a year ago,
And thus his Majesty would know
What it might mean, and why the man
Had come no more to Ispahan?
Now, when the truth was brought to light,
The King—who laughed with all his might
To hear about the strange mishap—
Said, “Go, my men! and bring the chap;
'T is fit I make him some amends.”
Forth comes the gardener, and attends
Upon the King, who says, “I 've heard
The story, fellow, every word,
And fain some recompense would make;
Indeed, it was a grave mistake,
Although it makes me laugh to split
My sides—ha! ha!—to think of it!
Now, name your wish,—an easy task,—
And I will grant whate'er you ask.”
“Then grant me this,” replied the man,
“An axe, some salt, an Alkoran.
Well, that will do; of all your store
Those will suffice,—I ask no more.”
“Strange things to ask!” exclaimed the King,
“Now tell the meaning of this thing.”
“The axe I want to fell the tree
That bore the fruit I gave to thee;
The salt, upon the earth to sow,
That none thereon again may grow;
The Alkoran, that I may swear,
While I enjoy God's blessed air,
That I will never darken more
(With my consent) a palace door!”
Of light and liberty restrained,
For twelve long months; and might, no doubt,
Have been still longer getting out,
Had not the king, grown hard to suit,
Made mention of the finer fruit
The stranger brought a year ago,
And thus his Majesty would know
What it might mean, and why the man
Had come no more to Ispahan?
Now, when the truth was brought to light,
The King—who laughed with all his might
To hear about the strange mishap—
Said, “Go, my men! and bring the chap;
'T is fit I make him some amends.”
Forth comes the gardener, and attends
Upon the King, who says, “I 've heard
The story, fellow, every word,
197
Indeed, it was a grave mistake,
Although it makes me laugh to split
My sides—ha! ha!—to think of it!
Now, name your wish,—an easy task,—
And I will grant whate'er you ask.”
“Then grant me this,” replied the man,
“An axe, some salt, an Alkoran.
Well, that will do; of all your store
Those will suffice,—I ask no more.”
“Strange things to ask!” exclaimed the King,
“Now tell the meaning of this thing.”
“The axe I want to fell the tree
That bore the fruit I gave to thee;
The salt, upon the earth to sow,
That none thereon again may grow;
The Alkoran, that I may swear,
While I enjoy God's blessed air,
That I will never darken more
(With my consent) a palace door!”
THE VISION OF THE FAITHFUL.
Upon the faithful in the common thingsEnjoined of Duty, rarest blessings wait.
A pious Nun (an ancient volume brings
The legend and the lesson), while she sate
Reading some scriptures of the Sacred Word,
And marveling much at Christ's exceeding grace,
Saw in her room a Vision of the Lord,
With sudden splendor filling all the place!
Whereat she knelt, enraptured; when a bell
Signaled her hour to feed the convent's poor;
Which humble duty done, she sought her cell,
And lo! the Vision, brighter than before,
Who, smiling, spake: “Even so is heaven obtained;
I—hadst thou lingered here—had not remained!”
THE FAIRY'S GIFTS.
In a far-away country, some centuries since
(If the story is false, it is certainly pleasant),
Two fairies attended the birth of a Prince,
And, after their custom, each brought him a present.
(If the story is false, it is certainly pleasant),
Two fairies attended the birth of a Prince,
And, after their custom, each brought him a present.
“I bring him,” one whispered, “the eagle's bright vision,
So keen and wide-reaching that even a fly
The monarch may mark with the sharpest precision,
However remote, at a glance of his eye.”
So keen and wide-reaching that even a fly
The monarch may mark with the sharpest precision,
However remote, at a glance of his eye.”
“An excellent gift for a sovereign, no doubt,”
The other responds, “is a good pair of eyes:
But an eagle would scorn to be peering about,
With intent to remark the behavior of flies!
The other responds, “is a good pair of eyes:
But an eagle would scorn to be peering about,
With intent to remark the behavior of flies!
“And so to your present I beg to unite
A gift of my choosing,—well suited to kings,
And others no less; to the eagle's keen sight
I add his contempt for all trivial things!”
A gift of my choosing,—well suited to kings,
And others no less; to the eagle's keen sight
I add his contempt for all trivial things!”
“In sooth,” said the first, “I confess that I think
Your cautious restriction exceedingly wise;
How often it happens that merely to wink
Is the properest use we can make of our eyes!”
Your cautious restriction exceedingly wise;
How often it happens that merely to wink
Is the properest use we can make of our eyes!”
THE OLD GENERAL AND HIS KING.
“All men think all men mortal butThemselves!” says Young. The case is put
Extremely strong, and yet, in sooth,
The statement scarce exceeds the truth.
That is to say, excepting those
So very ill they can't suppose
198
But deems his earthly course will run
(Despite some transient doubts and fears)
Beyond his friend's of equal years.
In proof how far such dreams prevail,
Pray mark this old historic tale.
A General, whose lengthened term
Of life had found him quite infirm,
Was questioned by his Majesty
(Older, by several years, than he)
About his place of burial. “Where,”
The King inquired with friendly care,
“Pray tell me, would it please you best
Your brave old honored bones should rest?”
“Ah!” said the Soldier, “seldom I
Have thought of death; but when I die,
I 'd have my grave not quite alone,
But near to where they 've placed your own!”
SAINT VERENA AND SATAN.
A LEGEND OF THE ALPS.
Below Mount Jura lies a vale
Extremely dark and deep and wide,
Where once, if we may trust the tale,
Good Saint Verena lived and died.
Extremely dark and deep and wide,
Where once, if we may trust the tale,
Good Saint Verena lived and died.
A pious damsel, sooth, was she,
Who made her lowly life sublime
With works of grace and charity;
The marvel of her age and clime.
Who made her lowly life sublime
With works of grace and charity;
The marvel of her age and clime.
To heal the sick, and teach the young,
And lead the weak in Virtue's ways,
Her daily life,—and every tongue
In all the valley sang her praise,
And lead the weak in Virtue's ways,
Her daily life,—and every tongue
In all the valley sang her praise,
Save one,—of course the “Evil One,”—
Who, being evermore at strife
With pious folks, left naught undone
To end good Saint Verena's life.
Who, being evermore at strife
With pious folks, left naught undone
To end good Saint Verena's life.
Sometimes he turned, the legends say,
A mountain torrent in her path;
In vain! dry-shod she held her way,
Unhurt, despite the Devil's wrath!
A mountain torrent in her path;
In vain! dry-shod she held her way,
Unhurt, despite the Devil's wrath!
And once a murderer, in the night,
The fiend employed to take her life;
In vain! for when his lantern light
Revealed her face, he dropped his knife.
The fiend employed to take her life;
In vain! for when his lantern light
Revealed her face, he dropped his knife.
And so it fell, the Devil's skill
No harm to Saint Verena brought;
He failed to work his wicked will,
And all his malice came to naught.
No harm to Saint Verena brought;
He failed to work his wicked will,
And all his malice came to naught.
Enraged, at last he seized a stone,
Intent at once to crush her dead,
(A rock that weighed at least a ton!)
And held it poised above her head.
Intent at once to crush her dead,
(A rock that weighed at least a ton!)
And held it poised above her head.
Whereat she turned, and at the sight
(Such angel-beauty filled her face)
Poor Satan shuddered with affright,
And fain had fled the holy place!
(Such angel-beauty filled her face)
Poor Satan shuddered with affright,
And fain had fled the holy place!
And in his fear he trembled so
He dropped the stone,—down—down it goes!
To fall on Saint Verena?—No!
It falls instead on Satan's toes!
He dropped the stone,—down—down it goes!
To fall on Saint Verena?—No!
It falls instead on Satan's toes!
And since that day he limps about,
Unable more to leap or run;
And, that the story none may doubt,
You still may see the very stone;
Unable more to leap or run;
And, that the story none may doubt,
You still may see the very stone;
With five deep marks on either side,
Which—so the pious peasant hints,
Though wicked skeptics may deride—
Are clearly Satan's finger-prints.
Which—so the pious peasant hints,
Though wicked skeptics may deride—
Are clearly Satan's finger-prints.
THE SPELL OF CIRCE.
A CLASSIC FABLE.
When all his comrades drank the magic bowlOf crafty Circe, changing form and soul
Of men to brutes,—wolves, lions, bears, and swine,
Ulysses only, full of strength divine,
And matchless wisdom, 'scaped the siren's snare;
Refused the tempting cup, and (triumph rare!)
Returned another mixed with so much skill
It charmed the charmer to the hero's will,
Till now she promised to restore his men
199
If so they willed: “Pray, let them freely choose,”
The siren said; “but what if they refuse?”
Straight to the brutes their ancient leader ran,
And thus, with joy, his eager tongue began:
“My presence here your quick release secures;
Speak but the word,—for speech again is yours.”
The lion answered first: “What, I? a king!
To change my state for such a paltry thing
As a mere cit or sailor? Let me be!
I'm always armed, for I have claws, you see!
As monarch of the forest now I range;
Thanks for your kindness,—but I would not change.”
Ulysses next approached the shaggy bear:
“Alas! how ill your form and face compare
With those, my friend, that you were wont to show
To courtly dames a little while ago!”
“Indeed,” the bear replied, “my present form
Is one I find extremely nice and warm;
And as to features, sir, the ursine race
Have their own notions of a pretty face.
I well remember what I used to be,—
A shivering sailor on the stormy sea;
And, faith! old man, I tell you plump and square,
Compared with such, I 'd rather be a bear!”
Next to the wolf the anxious hero came,
And begged the brute to change his ugly name
And office: “What! destroy the shepherd's flocks?
Sure, such a life a noble nature shocks;
Quit now, my old companion, while you can,
Your thieving trade, and be an honest man!”
“An honest man?” he howled, “nay, who d'ye mean?
Faith! that 's a man that I have never seen!
And as to eating sheep,—pray tell me when
They ceased to be the prey and food of men?
Savage? you say; why, men slay men, we find;
Wolves, at the worst, are wont to spare their kind!”
The hog came next. Change back? Not he! to tell
The honest truth, he liked his ease too well;
“Where will you find,” grunts out the filthy swine,
“A life so blest with luxury as mine?
To eat and drink and sleep,—grow plump and fat,—
What more, I ask, can mortal wish than that?”
So answered all the rest, the small and great,
Each quite contented with his beastly state;
Each spurning manhood and its joys to boot,
To be a lawless, lazy, sensual brute.
THE TWO GRAVES.
A GERMAN LEGEND.
A man who long had tried in vain
The doctor's skill to ease the pain
That racked his limbs, until his gout
Scarce suffered him to crawl about,
Though much inclining to despair,
Gave ear to all who spoke him fair,
And told of means that might insure
The end he sought,—relief or cure.
The doctor's skill to ease the pain
That racked his limbs, until his gout
Scarce suffered him to crawl about,
Though much inclining to despair,
Gave ear to all who spoke him fair,
And told of means that might insure
The end he sought,—relief or cure.
Among a crowd of such, there came,
To proffer help, an ancient dame,
Who, having heard with solemn face
The nature of the patient's case,
Advised him thus: “At early light,
While yet the grass is damp with night,
Go sit upon a good man's grave,
And in the dews upon it lave
Your aching limbs; repeat it thrice;
My word, 't will cure you in a trice.
To proffer help, an ancient dame,
Who, having heard with solemn face
The nature of the patient's case,
Advised him thus: “At early light,
While yet the grass is damp with night,
Go sit upon a good man's grave,
And in the dews upon it lave
Your aching limbs; repeat it thrice;
My word, 't will cure you in a trice.
Next morning at the dawn of day
The cripple takes his weary way
Unto the churchyard; where, upon
A monument of polished stone,
He reads with joy: “Here lies a man
Whose living virtues far outran
All words of praise,—a model he
Of Justice, Goodness, Charity.”
Enough! the patient takes his seat
And in the moisture bathes his feet
And aching joints; but, sooth to say,
It did not drive his gout away,
Though thrice repeated; nay, he swore
The pain was greater than before.
The cripple takes his weary way
Unto the churchyard; where, upon
A monument of polished stone,
He reads with joy: “Here lies a man
Whose living virtues far outran
All words of praise,—a model he
Of Justice, Goodness, Charity.”
200
And in the moisture bathes his feet
And aching joints; but, sooth to say,
It did not drive his gout away,
Though thrice repeated; nay, he swore
The pain was greater than before.
What next? Near by, a hillock lies
Of grass-grown earth; and so he tries
The dame's prescription once again;
And lo! swift flies the patient's pain;
He drops his staff, and, strange to tell,
His gout is gone,—the man is well!
With grateful heart and beaming face
He turns the sleeper's name to trace;
But no; a slab is there alone,
With not a word upon the stone.
Of grass-grown earth; and so he tries
The dame's prescription once again;
And lo! swift flies the patient's pain;
He drops his staff, and, strange to tell,
His gout is gone,—the man is well!
With grateful heart and beaming face
He turns the sleeper's name to trace;
But no; a slab is there alone,
With not a word upon the stone.
KING PYRRHUS AND HIS COUNSELOR.
AN APOLOGUE FROM BOILEAU.
Quoth Cyneas, counselor and friendTo royal Pyrrhus, “To what end,
Tell me, O mightiest of kings,
Are all these ships and warlike things?”
“To conquer Rome!—a pretty prize,
And worth the cost,” the King replies;
“She'll prove, I think, a valiant foe;
So, if you please, to Rome we go.”
“Well,—Rome reduced, my royal friend,
What conquest next do you intend?”
“The rest of Italy will do
To keep our arms from rusting.” “True.
And then, of course there 's something more?”
“Well,—Sicily, a neighboring shore,
Is worth the having.” “Very well,—
What next?” “That is n't hard to tell;
Of such a navy what 's the use
Unless we sail to Syracuse?”
“'T is well,—and, having at command
All these, why, then you'll stay your hand?”
“No. Syracuse obtained, we'll make
A trip to Carthage; then we'll take”—
“Your scheme is vast. I must confess.
Thus you advance till you possess
Arabia, Africa, and what
May lie beyond,—till you have got
The Indian realm; nor resting there,
Extend your broad dominion where
The hardy Scythian dwells. And then?”
“Why, then we'll hasten back again,
And take our ease, and sweetly spend
Our lives in pleasure to the end.”
So quoth the King. “Ah!” Cyneas said,
And gravely shook his reverend head,
“Why go so far and pay so dear
For pleasures, Sire, that now and here
We may possess? How much more wise
To take the good that near us lies,
To seize the passing joy, unvext
With anxious care about the next!”
THE FARMER WHO MADE HIS OWN WEATHER.
Once on a time, Lafontaine writes,
Jove, sitting on th' Olympian heights,
Called nimble Mercury to his side,
And bade him publish, far and wide,
“A farm to let!” Whereat he flies
Through all the world to advertise
“The finest farm that can be found
For fifty thousand miles around;
To let—on terms quite sure to please
Whoe'er may wish to take the lease!”
Jove, sitting on th' Olympian heights,
Called nimble Mercury to his side,
And bade him publish, far and wide,
“A farm to let!” Whereat he flies
Through all the world to advertise
“The finest farm that can be found
For fifty thousand miles around;
To let—on terms quite sure to please
Whoe'er may wish to take the lease!”
Then came the farmers thick and fast
To see the land,—which far surpassed
Their brightest hopes; but in a trice
All fell to higgling at the price.
One said the soil was thin and poor;
Another, that it lacked manure;
And still another man made bold
To say the land was sour and cold;
Each finding fault, with shrewd intent
To cheapen what he wished to rent.
To see the land,—which far surpassed
Their brightest hopes; but in a trice
All fell to higgling at the price.
One said the soil was thin and poor;
Another, that it lacked manure;
And still another man made bold
To say the land was sour and cold;
Each finding fault, with shrewd intent
To cheapen what he wished to rent.
At length, when all had said their say,
And some began to go away,
One, who as yet had held his peace,
Proposed at once to take the lease,
Provided Jove would give him power
O'er cold and heat, o'er sun and shower;
In brief—to sum it all together—
The power to regulate the weather!
'T is granted! So, by Jove's command,
The joyful tenant takes the land.
He rains or shines, makes cold or warm,
Brings down the dew, averts the storm
Rules, at his will, the wind that blows,
And regulates the winter's snows.
In short, within the narrow range
Of his own acres, makes the change
Of seasons through the varied year.
And some began to go away,
One, who as yet had held his peace,
Proposed at once to take the lease,
Provided Jove would give him power
O'er cold and heat, o'er sun and shower;
In brief—to sum it all together—
The power to regulate the weather!
'T is granted! So, by Jove's command,
The joyful tenant takes the land.
He rains or shines, makes cold or warm,
Brings down the dew, averts the storm
Rules, at his will, the wind that blows,
And regulates the winter's snows.
In short, within the narrow range
201
Of seasons through the varied year.
Alas! the gift proves all too dear!
For, while the farmer sees with pain
His neighbors' lands are rich in grain,
And all that genial Nature yields
In thrifty herds and fruitful fields,
His own, despite his anxious toil,
Proves, at the best, ungrateful soil,
That brings him naught but discontent,
Without a sou to pay the rent.
For, while the farmer sees with pain
His neighbors' lands are rich in grain,
And all that genial Nature yields
In thrifty herds and fruitful fields,
His own, despite his anxious toil,
Proves, at the best, ungrateful soil,
That brings him naught but discontent,
Without a sou to pay the rent.
What could he do?—he cannot pay,
And so the man was fain to pray
To be forgiven; with shame confessed
His folly,—who essayed to test
The Power divine that rules above,
And deemed himself more wise than Jove.
And so the man was fain to pray
To be forgiven; with shame confessed
His folly,—who essayed to test
The Power divine that rules above,
And deemed himself more wise than Jove.
THE PROXY SAINT.
Each for himself must do his Master's work,Or at his peril leave it all undone;
Witness the fate of one who sought to shirk
The sanctuary's service, yet would shun
The penalty. A man of earthly aims
(So runs the apologue), whose pious spouse
Would oft remind him of the Church's claims,
Still answered thus, “Go thou and pay our vows
For thee and me.” Now, when at Peter's gate
The twain together had arrived at last,
He let the woman in; then to her mate,
Shutting the door, “Thou hast already passed
By proxy,” said the Saint,—“just in the way
That thou on earth wast wont to fast and pray.”
THE TWO WISHES.
AN EGYPTIAN TALE.
In Babylon, some ages since,
Death took, one day, the reigning Prince;
And so, 't is needless to be said,
The heir-apparent reigned instead.
(For then as now it was the law,
“Le roi est mort!”—so “Vive le roi!”
In the same breath the courtiers sing,
“The King is dead!”—“Long live the King!”)
Death took, one day, the reigning Prince;
And so, 't is needless to be said,
The heir-apparent reigned instead.
(For then as now it was the law,
“Le roi est mort!”—so “Vive le roi!”
In the same breath the courtiers sing,
“The King is dead!”—“Long live the King!”)
The son, on looking round to find
What wealth the sire had left behind,
With other riches—more indeed
Then e'en a king could fairly need—
A secret chest discovered, where
His sordid sire, with anxious care,
His golden gains had safely stored,
Till now it reached a mighty hoard.
“Great God!” he cried, “O, may I spend
This ample treasure thou dost lend
In charity, and may I live
Till not a coin remains to give!”
What wealth the sire had left behind,
With other riches—more indeed
Then e'en a king could fairly need—
A secret chest discovered, where
His sordid sire, with anxious care,
His golden gains had safely stored,
Till now it reached a mighty hoard.
“Great God!” he cried, “O, may I spend
This ample treasure thou dost lend
In charity, and may I live
Till not a coin remains to give!”
The Vizier, smiling, said, “Good Sire,
Your noble aim I much admire;
But list, your Majesty, I pray,
To what I heard your father say,
While gazing on this very chest,
Then scarce a quarter full, at best:
‘O gracious God! be it thy will,’
He cried, ‘that I may live to fill
This coffer full! Grant, I implore,
This one request,—I ask no more!’”
Your noble aim I much admire;
But list, your Majesty, I pray,
To what I heard your father say,
While gazing on this very chest,
Then scarce a quarter full, at best:
‘O gracious God! be it thy will,’
He cried, ‘that I may live to fill
This coffer full! Grant, I implore,
This one request,—I ask no more!’”
THE TRAVELER AND THE TEMPEST.
AN ORIENTAL TALE.
A merchant,—so the tale is told
In Eastern fable, quaint and old,—
Whom urgent business called to roam
On foot in parts remote from home,
Was caught, one morning, in a shower
Of such extremely pelting power,
The man was fairly drenched with rain;
And, though no saint, for once was fain
To call on Jove in earnest prayer
That he, the pluvious god, would spare
A suffering wretch whose shivering form
Was like to perish in the storm.
But still, though loud his prayers arise,
They fail to pierce the murky skies;
And added vows prove all in vain
To stay the fury of the rain.
In Eastern fable, quaint and old,—
Whom urgent business called to roam
On foot in parts remote from home,
Was caught, one morning, in a shower
Of such extremely pelting power,
The man was fairly drenched with rain;
And, though no saint, for once was fain
To call on Jove in earnest prayer
That he, the pluvious god, would spare
A suffering wretch whose shivering form
Was like to perish in the storm.
But still, though loud his prayers arise,
They fail to pierce the murky skies;
And added vows prove all in vain
To stay the fury of the rain.
202
And now, since Jove no succor lent,
The traveler growls his discontent
In impious scoffs at Heaven's decrees.
“The gods,” he muttered, “sit at ease,
And laugh at us who strive to please
Their vanity with praise and prayer,
And gifts that we can poorly spare;
Meanwhile the very ills they send
They lack the power—or will—to mend!”
With this, he sought a neighboring wood,
To shun the storm as best he could;
When lo! a robber issuing thence,
The man, unarmed for self-defense,
With flying footsteps sought again
The fury of the open rain,—
A friendly barrier now, perchance,
Against the robber's dread advance.
And so it proved, yet, as he fled,
The other, pointing at his head
A well-aimed arrow, would have slain
The fugitive, had not the rain
The moistened bowstring so unnerved,
The dart fell short, and only served
The more to speed the traveler's flight,
Till he was safely out of sight.
The traveler growls his discontent
In impious scoffs at Heaven's decrees.
“The gods,” he muttered, “sit at ease,
And laugh at us who strive to please
Their vanity with praise and prayer,
And gifts that we can poorly spare;
Meanwhile the very ills they send
They lack the power—or will—to mend!”
With this, he sought a neighboring wood,
To shun the storm as best he could;
When lo! a robber issuing thence,
The man, unarmed for self-defense,
With flying footsteps sought again
The fury of the open rain,—
A friendly barrier now, perchance,
Against the robber's dread advance.
And so it proved, yet, as he fled,
The other, pointing at his head
A well-aimed arrow, would have slain
The fugitive, had not the rain
The moistened bowstring so unnerved,
The dart fell short, and only served
The more to speed the traveler's flight,
Till he was safely out of sight.
Now, when the storm was spent at last,
And all the pain and peril past,
The traveller, resting for a space
Where sunshine made a pleasant place
His limbs to warm, his cloak to dry,
Heard, thundering from the azure sky,
A solemn voice, whose words proclaim
The source celestial whence they came:
“Consider well, O mortal man!
How wise is Heaven's benignant plan;
When skies are black and tempests lower,
Mark not alone the Thunderer's power,
But in his ways, at every turn,
His kindly providence discern!”
And all the pain and peril past,
The traveller, resting for a space
Where sunshine made a pleasant place
His limbs to warm, his cloak to dry,
Heard, thundering from the azure sky,
A solemn voice, whose words proclaim
The source celestial whence they came:
“Consider well, O mortal man!
How wise is Heaven's benignant plan;
When skies are black and tempests lower,
Mark not alone the Thunderer's power,
But in his ways, at every turn,
His kindly providence discern!”
PAST, FUTURE, AND PRESENT
AN ALLEGORY.
Once on a time—we need not careToo nicely for the when and where—
Three princes, who, since Time had birth,
Have ruled three provinces on earth,
Whate'er the scope of human aims,
(Past, Future, Present, were their names,)
Met on a pleasant summer's day,
And talking in a friendly way
Of topics such as neighbors use
For mere companionship,—the news,
The weather, or mayhap the price
Of bullion since the last advice
Touching the royal health,—began
At length to speculate on Man
And his affairs; in brief, on all
Such subtile themes as, since the Fall,
Have puzzled moralists; and then
From such deep talk concerning men
As ranged from Providence to Fate,
They fell at last to sharp debate
About themselves, as, who might be
In power the greatest of the three.
“I,” said the Past, “must be the one,
Since all things great were surely done
By me,—there's naught in all the land
But bears the impress of my hand!”
“True,” said the Future; “yet reflect,
Your doings claim but small respect
Compared with mine,—since all to be
Henceforward will be ruled by me!”
“Nay,” said the Present, “cease your claims;
What are ye both but sounding names?
All things achieved beneath the sun,
And all on earth that shall be done,
Are mine alone! O'er great and small
The Present still is king of all!”
| The poetical works of John Godfrey Saxe | |