[[5]] The badinage of La Fontaine having been misunderstood, the translator has altered the introduction to this fable. The intention of the fable is to recommend prudence and good nature, not celibacy. So the peerless Granville understands it, for his pencil tells us that the hero of the fable did finally recall his wife, notwithstanding his fearful imprecation. It seems that even she was better than none.--Translator; (in his sixth edition).
[III].--THE RAT RETIRED FROM THE WORLD.
The sage Levantines have a tale
About a rat that weary grew
Of all the cares which life assail,
And to a Holland cheese withdrew.
His solitude was there profound,
Extending through his world so round.
Our hermit lived on that within;
And soon his industry had been
With claws and teeth so good,
That in his novel hermitage,
He had in store, for wants of age,
Both house and livelihood.
What more could any rat desire?
He grew fair, fat, and round.
'God's blessings thus redound
To those who in His vows retire.'[[6]]
One day this personage devout,
Whose kindness none might doubt,
Was ask'd, by certain delegates
That came from Rat-United-States,
For some small aid, for they
To foreign parts were on their way,
For succour in the great cat-war.
Ratopolis beleaguer'd sore,
Their whole republic drain'd and poor,
No morsel in their scrips they bore.
Slight boon they craved, of succour sure
In days at utmost three or four.
'My friends,' the hermit said,
'To worldly things I'm dead.
How can a poor recluse
To such a mission be of use?
What can he do but pray
That God will aid it on its way?
And so, my friends, it is my prayer
That God will have you in his care.'
His well-fed saintship said no more,
But in their faces shut the door.
What think you, reader, is the service
For which I use this niggard rat?
To paint a monk? No, but a dervise.
A monk, I think, however fat,
Must be more bountiful than that.
[[6]] God's blessing, &c.--So the rat himself professed to consider the matter.--Translator.
[IV].--THE HERON.[[7]]
One day,--no matter when or where,--
A long-legg'd heron chanced to fare
By a certain river's brink,
With his long, sharp beak
Helved on his slender neck;
'Twas a fish-spear, you might think.
The water was clear and still,
The carp and the pike there at will
Pursued their silent fun,
Turning up, ever and anon,
A golden side to the sun.
With ease might the heron have made
Great profits in his fishing trade.
So near came the scaly fry,
They might be caught by the passer-by.
But he thought he better might
Wait for a better appetite--
For he lived by rule, and could not eat,
Except at his hours, the best of meat.
Anon his appetite return'd once more;
So, approaching again the shore,
He saw some tench taking their leaps,
Now and then, from their lowest deeps.
With as dainty a taste as Horace's rat,
He turn'd away from such food as that.
'What, tench for a heron! poh!
I scorn the thought, and let them go.'
The tench refused, there came a gudgeon;
'For all that,' said the bird, 'I budge on.
I'll ne'er open my beak, if the gods please,
For such mean little fishes as these.'
He did it for less;
For it came to pass,
That not another fish could he see;
And, at last, so hungry was he,
That he thought it of some avail
To find on the bank a single snail.
Such is the sure result
Of being too difficult.
Would you be strong and great,
Learn to accommodate.
Get what you can, and trust for the rest;
The whole is oft lost by seeking the best.
Above all things beware of disdain;
Where, at most, you have little to gain.
The people are many that make
Every day this sad mistake.
'Tis not for the herons I put this case,
Ye featherless people, of human race.
--List to another tale as true,
And you'll hear the lesson brought home to you.[[8]]
[[7]] Abstemius.
[[8]] The lesson brought home to you. The two last lines refer the reader to the next fable.
[V].--THE MAID.[[9]]
A certain maid, as proud as fair,
A husband thought to find
Exactly to her mind--
Well-form'd and young, genteel in air,
Not cold nor jealous;--mark this well.
Whoe'er would wed this dainty belle
Must have, besides rank, wealth, and wit,
And all good qualities to fit--
A man 'twere difficult to get.
Kind Fate, however, took great care
To grant, if possible, her prayer.
There came a-wooing men of note;
The maiden thought them all,
By half, too mean and small.
'They marry me! the creatures dote:--
Alas! poor souls! their case I pity.'
(Here mark the bearing of the beauty.)
Some were less delicate than witty;
Some had the nose too short or long;
In others something else was wrong;
Which made each in the maiden's eyes
An altogether worthless prize.
Profound contempt is aye the vice
Which springs from being over-nice,
Thus were the great dismiss'd; and then
Came offers from inferior men.
The maid, more scornful than before,
Took credit to her tender heart
For giving then an open door.
'They think me much in haste to part
With independence! God be thank'd
My lonely nights bring no regret;
Nor shall I pine, or greatly fret,
Should I with ancient maids be rank'd.'
Such were the thoughts that pleased the fair:
Age made them only thoughts that were.
Adieu to lovers:--passing years
Awaken doubts and chilling fears.
Regret, at last, brings up the train.
Day after day she sees, with pain,
Some smile or charm take final flight,
And leave the features of a 'fright.'
Then came a hundred sorts of paint:
But still no trick, nor ruse, nor feint,
Avail'd to hide the cause of grief,
Or bar out Time, that graceless thief.
A house, when gone to wreck and ruin,
May be repair'd and made a new one.
Alas! for ruins of the face
No such rebuilding e'er takes place.
Her daintiness now changed its tune;
Her mirror told her, 'Marry soon!'
So did a certain wish within,
With more of secrecy than sin,--
A wish that dwells with even prudes,
Annihilating solitudes.
This maiden's choice was past belief,
She soothing down her restless grief,
And smoothing it of every ripple,
By marrying a cripple.
[[9]] This fable should be read in conjunction with the foregoing one.