A wolf, what time the thawing breeze
Renews the life of plants and trees,
And beasts go forth from winter lair
To seek abroad their various fare,--
A wolf, I say, about those days,
In sharp look-out for means and ways,
Espied a horse turn'd out to graze.
His joy the reader may opine.
'Once got,' said he, 'this game were fine;
But if a sheep, 'twere sooner mine.
I can't proceed my usual way;
Some trick must now be put in play.'
This said,
He came with measured tread,
As if a healer of disease,--
Some pupil of Hippocrates,--
And told the horse, with learned verbs,
He knew the power of roots and herbs,--
Whatever grew about those borders,--
And not at all to flatter
Himself in such a matter,
Could cure of all disorders.
If he, Sir Horse, would not conceal
The symptoms of his case,
He, Doctor Wolf, would gratis heal;
For that to feed in such a place,
And run about untied,
Was proof itself of some disease,
As all the books decide.
'I have, good doctor, if you please,'
Replied the horse, 'as I presume,
Beneath my foot, an aposthume.'
'My son,' replied the learned leech,
'That part, as all our authors teach,
Is strikingly susceptible
Of ills which make acceptable
What you may also have from me--
The aid of skilful surgery;
Which noble art, the fact is,
For horses of the blood I practise.'
The fellow, with this talk sublime,
Watch'd for a snap the fitting time.
Meanwhile, suspicious of some trick,
The wary patient nearer draws,
And gives his doctor such a kick,
As makes a chowder of his jaws.
Exclaim'd the wolf, in sorry plight,
'I own those heels have served me right.
I err'd to quit my trade,
As I will not in future;
Me nature surely made
For nothing but a butcher.'
[[11]] Aesop; also in Faerno.
[IX].--THE PLOUGHMAN AND HIS SONS.[[12]]
The farmer's patient care and toil
Are oftener wanting than the soil.
A wealthy ploughman drawing near his end,
Call'd in his sons apart from every friend,
And said, 'When of your sire bereft,
The heritage our fathers left
Guard well, nor sell a single field.
A treasure in it is conceal'd:
The place, precisely, I don't know,
But industry will serve to show.
The harvest past, Time's forelock take,
And search with plough, and spade, and rake;
Turn over every inch of sod,
Nor leave unsearch'd a single clod.'
The father died. The sons--and not in vain--
Turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again;
That year their acres bore
More grain than e'er before.
Though hidden money found they none,
Yet had their father wisely done,
To show by such a measure,
That toil itself is treasure.
[[12]] Aesop.
[X].--THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOUR.[[13]]
A mountain was in travail pang;
The country with her clamour rang.
Out ran the people all, to see,
Supposing that the birth would be
A city, or at least a house.
It was a mouse!
In thinking of this fable,
Of story feign'd and false,
But meaning veritable,
My mind the image calls
Of one who writes, "The war I sing
Which Titans waged against the Thunder-king."[[14]]
As on the sounding verses ring,
What will be brought to birth?
Why, dearth.
[[13]] Phaedrus, IV. 22.
[[14]] The War, &c.--The war of the Gods and Titans (sons of Heaven and Earth); vide Hesiod, Theogony, I. 1083, Bohn's ed.
[XI].--FORTUNE AND THE BOY.[[15]]
Beside a well, uncurb'd and deep,
A schoolboy laid him down to sleep:
(Such rogues can do so anywhere.)
If some kind man had seen him there,
He would have leap'd as if distracted;
But Fortune much more wisely acted;
For, passing by, she softly waked the child,
Thus whispering in accents mild:
'I save your life, my little dear,
And beg you not to venture here
Again, for had you fallen in,
I should have had to bear the sin;
But I demand, in reason's name,
If for your rashness I'm to blame?'
With this the goddess went her way.
I like her logic, I must say.
There takes place nothing on this planet,
But Fortune ends, whoe'er began it.
In all adventures good or ill,
We look to her to foot the bill.
Has one a stupid, empty pate,
That serves him never till too late,
He clears himself by blaming Fate!