The Fables of Florian. Jean Pierre Claris de Florian
IV.
THE TWO TRAVELERS.
Two friendly comrades, Tom and Bill,
Were on their way to Thionville,
When Thomas found
A purse of gold upon the ground.
"What a wind-fall for us!" said Bill.
"No, not for us," Tom quick replies;
"To me, alone, belongs the prize."
Bill answered not. But soon their way
Led them where ambush'd robbers lay.
Tom, trembling, would have taken flight,
But rivetted by his affright,
Exclaimed, "Alas! we are undone!"
"Not we," says Bill, "but you alone."
And saying so he nimbly flies,
And through a hedge securely hies.
But Tom is captur'd, gagg'd, and bound,
And robb'd of all the gold he'd found.
Who, like our hero, is inclined
To keep good luck for his own ends,
Must soon or late be doom'd to find,
When ill luck comes he'll have no friends.
The Inquisitive Cat
FABLE V.
THE INQUISITIVE CAT.
Ye bold philosophers who strain
Th' inexplicable to explain,
Deign but to listen while I tell
What once a curious cat befell.
This tabby one day chanced to pass
Before her master's toilette glass;
And made an effort to come at
What seemed to her a stranger cat.
Failing in front the cat to find,
She slyly then stole round behind.
Not meeting there the cat she sought,
And almost to her wit's end brought,
Yet bent the mystery to explore,
She mounted on the glass astride,
One paw behind and one before
And in that way to catch it tried.
Now, bending down, an ear she spies,
And then another, which she eyes;
Then with spry movements, quick and deft,
Working her paws from right to left,
She strives to grab the fleeting shade.
The shadows still her grasp evade,
Till, losing balance, down she went—
Down from the table to the floor—
Resolv'd to hunt for shades no more,
But with plain sense to be content.
Turning away from things so nice,
She left the glass and went for mice.
"For what," thought she, "can be the use
Pursuing matters so abstruse?"
Involv'd in snares without an end,
Which none can ever comprehend,
Let wise philosophers discuss,
What has no use for them or us.
The Carp and her Young
FABLE VI.
THE CARP AND HER YOUNG.
"Take care, my little ones, take care,
Beware the river's bank," she said,
"The treach'rous hook is lurking there;
The hawk is hov'ring in the air;
Keep ever to the river's bed."
Thus 'midst the waters of the Seine,
The carp once plead, yet plead in vain,
With her young fry.
'Twas April; and through all the sky,
The warm and moisty zephyrs flew,
To wake the mountains from their dreams;
And fill again the languid streams,
Which overflow'd the country through.
Oh then to see
The revelry
Of the young fry,
As brisk and spry,
They darted through the swollen flood!
"Where's now your fear,
My mother dear?
There's nothing here but good.
The flood is to a deluge grown,
The whole world now is overflown,
And its domination is our own.
What is the need, midst such a sea,
In fear of hooks or hawks to be?"
Thus said the young fry in their glee.
"No, no," the mother straight replies,
"This flood is but a moment's rise;
Your only safety, as I've said,
Is not to leave the river's bed."
"Oh pish!"
Exclaimed the mad young fish.
"You weak old carp!
You always on that one string harp!
We are resolv'd to leave the Seine,
And enter on our new domain."
So saying, off the young ones go,
Exulting in the overflow.
We need not on their journey dwell,
For soon the risen waters fell;
The carplings, caught in shallow pools,
The fools!
Were hurried to the frying pan.
Now let him tell me, he who can,
Why did these carplings disobey,
And from the river stroll away?
Was it because they thought they knew
Their mother's counsels were not true?
Or was't they wanted something new?
Or did they think that—Ah, my friend!
To such inquiries where's the end?
The