AD ÆSOPUM.
1
Say, Æsop, wast thou born a slave,
Who dost so freely speak?
Thy thoughts so upright and so brave!
Thy back so bent and weak?
So ugly and so coarse thy face?
And, in thy fancies all, such grace!
2
Did thy rude comrades play thee pranks,
Thy master beat thee sore,
Yet live to own with grateful thanks
Thy wit had saved his store?
How fail'd such wit thyself to save
From an unjust and cruel grave?
3
Hadst thou, indeed, a stammering tongue,
Splay foot and limping walk,
Whose children are so fair and strong?
Didst thou with Solon talk?
And didst thou sup with Crœsus too
At Sardian feasts? Is all that true?
4
Vain questions! Not to us nor thee,
Dear Sage, it matters now
If true or false the stories be
Of what thou wast: for thou
Art what we are: and all thou art
We all receive, and all impart.
5
Of thee, who knewst the world so well,
Not much the world hath known:
Thy voice to us doth only tell
Our secrets, not thine own:
But thou before us everywhere
Hast been, and still we find thee there.
6
Great Sire of Fable! Age to age
Extends, from north to south
From east to west, thine heritage,
That grows from mouth to mouth.
And, with its growth still growing thus,
Thou art thyself grown fabulous.
