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Which might to future speakers be

A model for the use of each.

Not long, howe'er, had Rome the sense
To entertain such eloquence.

VIII. THE OLD MAN AND THE THREE YOUNG ONES.1

A MAN was planting at fourscore.

Three striplings, who their satchels wore,
'In building,' cried, 'the sense were more;
But then to plant young trees at that age!
The man is surely in his dotage.

Pray, in the name of common sense,
What fruit can he expect to gather
Of all this labour and expense?
Why, he must live like Lamech's father!
What use for thee, grey-headed man,
To load the remnant of thy span
With care for days that never can be thine?
Thyself to thought of errors past resign.
Long-growing hope, and lofty plan,

Leave thou to us, to whom such things belong.'
'To you!' replied the old man, hale and strong;
'I dare pronounce you altogether wrong.

The settled part of man's estate

Is very brief, and comes full late.
To those pale, gaming sisters trine,
Your lives are stakes as well as mine.

While so uncertain is the sequel,

Our terms of future life are equal;

For none can tell who last shall close his eyes
Upon the glories of these azure skies;

Nor any moment give us, ere it flies,
Assurance that another such shall rise,
But my descendants, whosoe'er they be,

Shall owe these cooling fruits and shades to me.
Do you acquit yourselves, in wisdom's sight,

› Abstemius.

From ministering to other hearts delight?
Why, boys, this is the fruit I gather now;
And sweeter never blush'd on bended bough.
Of this, to-morrow, I may take my fill;
Indeed, I may enjoy its sweetness till

I see full many mornings chase the glooms
From off the marble of your youthful tombs.'
The grey-beard man was right. One of the three,
Embarking, foreign lands to see,

Was drown'd within the very port.
In quest of dignity at court,
Another met his country's foe,

And perish'd by a random blow.

The third was kill'd by falling from a tree
Which he himself would graft. The three
Were mourn'd by him of hoary head,
Who chisel'd on each monument-

On doing good intent

The things which we have said.

IX. THE MICE AND THE OWL.

BEWARE of saying, 'Lend an ear,'
To something marvellous or witty.
To disappoint your friends who hear,
Is possible, and were a pity.

But now a clear exceptiou see,
Which I maintain a prodigy-

A thing which with the air of fable,
Is true as is the interest-table.

A pine was by a woodman fell'd,

Which ancient, huge, and hollow tree
An owl had for his palace held-

A bird the Fates had kept in fee,
Interpreter to such as we.

Within the caverns of the pine,

With other tenants of that mine,

Were found full many footless mice,

1 A bird the Fates, &c.-The owl was the bird of Atropos, the most terrible of the Fates, to whom was entrusted the task of cutting the thread of life.

But well provision'd, fat, and nice.
The bird had bit off all their feet,
And fed them there with heaps of wheat.
That this owl reason'd, who can doubt?
When to the chase he first went out,
And home alive the vermin brought,
Which in his talons he had caught,
The nimble creatures ran away.

Next time, resolved to make them stay,
He cropp'd their legs, and found, with pleasure,
That he could eat them at his leisure;
It were impossible to eat

Them all at once, did health permit.
His foresight, equal to our own,
In furnishing their food was shown.
Now, let Cartesians, if they can,

Pronounce this owl a mere machine.
Could springs originate the plan

Of maiming mice when taken lean,
To fatten for his soup-tureen?

If reason did no service there,

I do not know it anywhere.

Observe the course of argument:

These vermin are no sooner caught than gone:
They must be used as soon, 'tis evident;

But this to all cannot be done.

And then, for future need,
I might as well take heed.
Hence, while their ribs I lard,
I must from their elopement guard.
But how?-A plan complete!-
I'll clip them of their feet!
Now, find me, in your human schools,

A better use of logic's tools!

Upon your faith, what different art of thought
Has Aristotle or his followers taught?1

'La Fontaine, in a note, asserts that the subject of this fable, however marvellous, was a fact which was actually observed. His commentators, however, think the observers must have been in some measure mistaken, and I agree with them.-TRANSLATOR. In Fable I., Book X., La Fontaine also argues that brutes have reasoning faculties.

EPILOGUE.

'Tis thus, by crystal fount, my muse hath sung,
Translating into heavenly tongue
Whatever came within my reach,

From hosts of beings borr'wing nature's speech.
Interpreter of tribes diverse,

I've made them actors on my motley stage;
For in this boundless universe

There's none that talketh, simpleton or sage,
More eloquent at home than in my verse.
If some should find themselves by me the worse,
And this my work prove not a model true,
To that which I at least rough-hew,
Succeeding hands will give the finish due.
Ye pets of those sweet sisters nine,
Complete the task that I resign;

The lessons give, which doubtless I've omitted,
With wings by these inventions nicely fitted!
But you're already more than occupied;

For while my muse her harmless work hath plied,
All Europe to our sovereign yields,'
And learns, upon her battle-fields,
To bow before the noblest plan
That ever monarch form'd, or man.
Thence draw those sisters themes sublime,
With power to conquer Fate and Time.2

All Europe to our sovereign yields.—An allusion to the conclusion of the peace of Nimeguen by Louis XIV., in 1678. Louis to some extent negotiated the treaty of this peace in person, and having bought the support of the English king, Charles II. (as shown in the note to Fable XVIII., Book VII.) the terms of the treaty were almost his own. The glory of the achievement procured for Louis the surname of "le Grand.” The king's praises upon this account are further sounded by La Fontaine in Fable X., Book XII.

2 With the Epilogue to the XIth Book La Fontaine concluded his issue of Fables up to 1678-9. The XIIth and last Book was not added till 1694, the year before the poet's death. See Translator's Preface.

BOOK XII.

I. THE COMPANIONS OF ULYSSES.

TO MONSEIGNEur the duke de bourgogne.1

DEAR prince, a special favourite of the skies,
Pray let my incense from your altars rise.
With these her gifts, if rather late my muse,
My age and labours must her fault excuse.
My spirit wanes, while yours beams on the sight
At every moment with augmented light:
It does not go-it runs,—it seems to fly;
And he from whom it draws its traits so high,
In war a hero,2 burns to do the same.

No lack of his that, with victorious force,
His giant strides mark not his glory's course:
Some god retains: our sovereign I might name;
Himself no less than conqueror divine,

Whom one short month made master of the Rhine..

It needed then upon the foe to dash;

Perhaps, to-day, such generalship were rash.

But hush,-they say the Loves and Smiles
Abhor a speech spun out in miles;

And of such deities your court

Is constantly composed, in short.

1 Duke de Bourgogne.-Louis Duke de Bourgogne (Burgundy), grandson of Louis XIV. He was the son of Louis de Bourbon, the Dauphin, to whom La Fontaine had dedicated the first collection of his Fables. (See note, Dedication of Book I.) He was born in 1682, and at the time of this dedication was about twelve years of age, and the pupil of Fénélon. See Translator's Preface.

2 In war a hero.--Louis, the Dauphin, father of the prince addressed. The Dauphin was then in command of the army in Germany.

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