Showing posts with label Folklore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Folklore. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

The Sick Stag, Fable, La Fontaine

Crop of an engraving showing Jean de La FontaineImage via Wikipedia










The Sick Stag

 A stag, where stags abounded,
Fell sick, and was surrounded
Forthwith by comrades kind,
All pressing to assist,
Or see, their friend, at least,
And ease his anxious mind
An irksome multitude.
"Ah, sirs!" the sick was fain to cry,
"Pray leave me here to die,
As others do, in solitude.
Pray, let your kind attentions cease,
Till death my spirit shall release."
But comforters are not so sent:
On duty sad full long intent,
When Heaven pleased, they went:
But not without a friendly glass;
That is to say, they cropped the grass
And leaves which in that quarter grew,
From which the sick his pittance drew.
By kindness thus compelled to fast,
He died for want of food at last.
The men take off no trifling dole
Who heal the body, or the soul.
Alas the times! do what we will,
They have their payment, cure or kill.
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THE TORRENT AND THE RIVER, Fables, La Fontaine



XXIII.--THE TORRENT AND THE RIVER

With mighty rush and roar,
Adown a mountain steep
A torrent tumbled,--swelling o'er
Its rugged banks,--and bore
Vast ruin in its sweep.
The traveller were surely rash
To brave its whirling, foaming dash,
But one, by robbers sorely press'd,
Its terrors haply put to test.
They were but threats of foam and sound,
The loudest where the least profound.
With courage from his safe success,
His foes continuing to press,
He met a river in his course:
On stole its waters, calm and deep,
So silently they seem'd asleep,
All sweetly cradled, as I ween,
In sloping banks, and gravel clean,--
They threaten'd neither man nor horse.
Both ventured; but the noble steed,
That saved from robbers by his speed,
From that deep water could not save;
Both went to drink the Stygian wave;
Both went to cross, (but not to swim,)
Where reigns a monarch stern and grim,
Far other streams than ours.

Still men are men of dangerous powers;
Elsewhere, 'tis only ignorance that cowers.







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The Peacock complaining to Juno, Fables, La Fontaine


The Peacock complaining to Juno





Complained in some such words: 

"Great goddess, you have given 

To me, the laughing-stock of birds, 

A voice which fills, by taste quite just, 

All nature with disgust; 

Whereas that little paltry thing, 

The nightingale, pours from her throat 

So sweet and ravishing a note, 

She bears alone the honors of the spring." 

In anger Juno heard, 

And cried, "Shame on you, jealous bird

Grudge you the nightingale her voice, 

Who in the rainbow neck rejoice, 

Than costliest silks more richly tinted, 

In charms of grace and form unstinted,— 

Who strut in kingly pride, 

Your glorious tail spread wide 

With brilliants which in sheen do 

Outshine the jeweler's bow window? 

Is there a bird beneath the blue 

That has more charms than you? 

No animal in everything can shine. 

By just partition of our gifts divine, 

Each has its full and proper share; 

Among the birds that cleave the air, 

The hawk's a swift, the eagle is a brave one, 

For omens serves the hoarse old raven, 

The rook's of coming ills the prophet; 

And if there's any discontent, 

I have heard not of it. 

"Cease, then, your envious complaint; 

Or I, instead of making up your lack, 

Will take your boasted plumage from your back."









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The Lobster And Her Daughter, French Fables, La Fontaine



The Lobster And Her Daughter

The wise, sometimes, as lobsters do,
To gain their ends back foremost go.
It is the rower's art; and those
Commanders who mislead their foes,
Do often seem to aim their sight
Just where they don't intend to smite.
My theme, so low, may yet apply
To one whose fame is very high,
Who finds it not the hardest matter
A hundred headed league to scatter.
What he will do, what leave undone,
Are secrets with unbroken seals,
Till victory the truth reveals.
Whatever he would have unknown
Is sought in vain. Decrees of Fate
Forbid to check, at first, the course
Which sweeps at last with torrent force.
One Jove, as ancient fables state,
Exceeds a hundred gods in weight.
So Fate and Louis would seem able
The universe to draw,
Bound captive to their law.
But come we to our fable.
A mother lobster did her daughter chide:
"For shame, my daughter! can't you go ahead?"
"And how go you yourself?" the child replied;
"Can I be but by your example led?
Head foremost should I, singularly, wend,
While all my race pursue the other end."
She spoke with sense: for better or for worse,
Example has a universal force.
To some it opens wisdom's door,
But leads to folly many more.
Yet, as for backing to one's aim,
When properly pursued
The art is doubtless good,
At least in grim Bellona's game.
Book 12, Fable 10








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