A certain wood-chopper lost or broke
  From his axe's eye a bit of oak.
  The forest must needs be somewhat spared
  While such a loss was being repair'd.
  Came the man at last, and humbly pray'd
    That the woods would kindly lend to him--
    A moderate loan--a single limb,
  Whereof might another helve be made,
  And his axe should elsewhere drive its trade.
  O, the oaks and firs that then might stand,
  A pride and a joy throughout the land,
  For their ancientness and glorious charms!
  The innocent Forest lent him arms;
  But bitter indeed was her regret;
  For the wretch, his axe new-helved and whet,
  Did nought but his benefactress spoil
  Of the finest trees that graced her soil;
  And ceaselessly was she made to groan,
  Doing penance for that fatal loan.

  Behold the world-stage and its actors,
  Where benefits hurt benefactors!--
    A weary theme, and full of pain;
  For where's the shade so cool and sweet,
  Protecting strangers from the heat,
    But might of such a wrong complain?
      Alas! I vex myself in vain;
      Ingratitude, do what I will,
      Is sure to be the fashion still.

    A fox, though young, by no means raw,
    Had seen a horse, the first he ever saw:
  'Ho! neighbour wolf,' said he to one quite green,
  'A creature in our meadow I have seen,--
      Sleek, grand! I seem to see him yet,--
      The finest beast I ever met.'
      'Is he a stouter one than we?'
      The wolf demanded, eagerly;
      'Some picture of him let me see.'
  'If I could paint,' said fox, 'I should delight
  T' anticipate your pleasure at the sight;
  But come; who knows? perhaps it is a prey
      By fortune offer'd in our way.'
    They went. The horse, turn'd loose to graze,
    Not liking much their looks or ways,
        Was just about to gallop off.
  'Sir,' said the fox, 'your humble servants, we
  Make bold to ask you what your name may be.'
    The horse, an animal with brains enough,
  Replied, 'Sirs, you yourselves may read my name;
  My shoer round my heel hath writ the same.'
  The fox excus'd himself for want of knowledge:
    'Me, sir, my parents did not educate,--
    So poor, a hole was their entire estate.
  My friend, the wolf, however, taught at college,
        Could read it were it even Greek.'
          The wolf, to flattery weak,
        Approach'd to verify the boast;
        For which four teeth he lost.
  The high raised hoof came down with such a blow,
  As laid him bleeding on the ground full low.
  'My brother,' said the fox, 'this shows how just
    What once was taught me by a fox of wit,--
    Which on thy jaws this animal hath writ,--
  "All unknown things the wise mistrust."'

    Against a robber fox, a tree
      Some turkeys served as citadel.
    That villain, much provoked to see
      Each standing there as sentinel,
        Cried out, 'Such witless birds
  At me stretch out their necks, and gobble!
  No, by the powers! I'll give them trouble.'
        He verified his words.
    The moon, that shined full on the oak,
    Seem'd then to help the turkey folk.
    But fox, in arts of siege well versed,
    Ransack'd his bag of tricks accursed.
    He feign'd himself about to climb;
    Walk'd on his hinder legs sublime;
  Then death most aptly counterfeited,
  And seem'd anon resuscitated.
    A practiser of wizard arts
    Could not have fill'd so many parts.
    In moonlight he contrived to raise
    His tail, and make it seem a blaze:
    And countless other tricks like that.
    Meanwhile, no turkey slept or sat.
    Their constant vigilance at length,
    As hoped the fox, wore out their strength.
    Bewilder'd by the rigs he run,
    They lost their balance one by one.
    As Renard slew, he laid aside,
    Till nearly half of them had died;
    Then proudly to his larder bore,
    And laid them up, an ample store.

      A foe, by being over-heeded,
      Has often in his plan succeeded.

      There is an ape in Paris,
        To which was given a wife:
      Like many a one that marries,
        This ape, in brutal strife,
        Soon beat her out of life.
    Their infant cries,--perhaps not fed,--
        But cries, I ween, in vain;
    The father laughs: his wife is dead,
      And he has other loves again,
    Which he will also beat, I think,--
    Return'd from tavern drown'd in drink.

  For aught that's good, you need not look
    Among the imitative tribe;
  A monkey be it, or what makes a book--
    The worse, I deem--the aping scribe.

  A Scythian philosopher austere,
  Resolved his rigid life somewhat to cheer,
  Perform'd the tour of Greece, saw many things,
  But, best, a sage,--one such as Virgil sings,--
  A simple, rustic man, that equal'd kings;
  From whom, the gods would hardly bear the palm;
      Like them unawed, content, and calm.
  His fortune was a little nook of land;
  And there the Scythian found him, hook in hand,
  His fruit-trees pruning. Here he cropp'd
  A barren branch, there slash'd and lopp'd,
      Correcting Nature everywhere,
      Who paid with usury his care.
      'Pray, why this wasteful havoc, sir?'--
      So spoke the wondering traveller;
      'Can it, I ask, in reason's name,
      Be wise these harmless trees to maim?
      Fling down that instrument of crime,
      And leave them to the scythe of Time.
      Full soon, unhasten'd, they will go
      To deck the banks of streams below.'
      Replied the tranquil gardener,
      'I humbly crave your pardon, sir;
      Excess is all my hook removes,
      By which the rest more fruitful proves.'
        The philosophic traveller,--
      Once more within his country cold,--
      Himself of pruning-hook laid hold,
      And made a use most free and bold;
    Prescribed to friends, and counsel'd neighbours
    To imitate his pruning labours.
      The finest limbs he did not spare,
    But pruned his orchard past all reason,
    Regarding neither time nor season,
      Nor taking of the moon a care.
        All wither'd, droop'd, and died.

        This Scythian I set beside
      The indiscriminating Stoic.
      The latter, with a blade heroic,
      Retrenches, from his spirit sad,
      Desires and passions, good and bad,
      Not sparing e'en a harmless wish.
      Against a tribe so Vandalish
      With earnestness I here protest.
        They maim our hearts, they stupefy
      Their strongest springs, if not their best;
  They make us cease to live before we die.

      'Twixt elephant and beast of horned nose
      About precedence a dispute arose,
      Which they determined to decide by blows.
      The day was fix'd, when came a messenger
          To say the ape of Jupiter
      Was swiftly earthward seen to bear
      His bright caduceus through the air.
      This monkey, named in history Gill,
        The elephant at once believed
        A high commission had received
      To witness, by his sovereign's will,
          The aforesaid battle fought.
        Uplifted by the glorious thought,
  The beast was prompt on Monsieur Gill to wait,
  But found him slow, in usual forms of state,
      His high credentials to present.
      The ape, however, ere he went,
        Bestow'd a passing salutation.
      His excellency would have heard
        The subject matter of legation:
            But not a word!
      His fight, so far from stirring heaven,--
      The news was not received there, even!
      What difference sees the impartial sky
        Between an elephant and fly?
      Our monarch, doting on his object,
      Was forced himself to break the subject.
        'My cousin Jupiter,' said he,
      'Will shortly, from his throne supreme,
        A most important combat see,
      For all his court a thrilling theme.'
  'What combat?' said the ape, with serious face.
  'Is't possible you should not know the case?--'
  The elephant exclaim'd--'not know, dear sir,
      That Lord Rhinoceros disputes
      With me precedence of the brutes?
        That Elephantis is at war
        With savage hosts of Rhinocer?
      You know these realms, not void of fame?'
      'I joy to learn them now by name,'
      Return'd Sir Gill, 'for, first or last,
      No lisp of them has ever pass'd
      Throughout our dome so blue and vast.'
        Abash'd, the elephant replied,
          'What came you, then, to do?--'
        'Between two emmets to divide
          A spire of grass in two.
          We take of all a care;
          And, as to your affair,
  Before the gods, who view with equal eyes
  The small and great, it hath not chanced to rise.'

    A fool pursued, with club and stone,
    A sage, who said, 'My friend, well done!
    Receive this guinea for your pains;
    They well deserve far higher gains.
    The workman's worthy of his hire,
    'Tis said. There comes a wealthy squire,
    Who hath wherewith thy works to pay;
    To him direct thy gifts, and they
    Shall gain their proper recompense.'
      Urged by the hope of gain,
      Upon the wealthy citizen
    The fool repeated the offence.
    His pay this time was not in gold.
        Upon the witless man
      A score of ready footmen ran,
  And on his back, in full, his wages told.
    In courts, such fools afflict the wise;
    They raise the laugh at your expense.
    To check their babble, were it sense
  Their folly meetly to chastise?
  Perhaps 'twill take a stronger man.
  Then make them worry one who can.

    Sound reason and a tender heart
    With thee are friends that never part.
    A hundred traits might swell the roll;--
    Suffice to name thy nobleness of soul;
    Thy power to guide both men and things;
      Thy temper open, bland and free,
      A gift that draweth friends to thee,
    To which thy firm affection clings,
    Unmarr'd by age or change of clime,
    Or tempests of this stormy time;--
    All which deserve, in highest lyric,
    A rich and lofty panegyric;
    But no such thing wouldst thou desire,
    Whom pomp displeases, praises tire.
    Hence mine is simple, short, and plain;
      Yet, madam, I would fain
      Tack on a word or two
      Of homage to your country due,--
      A country well beloved by you.

    With mind to match the outward case,
    The English are a thinking race.
    They pierce all subjects through and through;
    Well arm'd with facts, they hew their way,
    And give to science boundless sway.
    Quite free from flattery, I say,
    Your countrymen, for penetration,
    Must bear the palm from every nation;
    For e'en the dogs they breed excel
    Our own in nicety of smell.
    Your foxes, too, are cunninger,
    As readily we may infer
    From one that practised, 'tis believed,
    A stratagem the best conceived.
    The wretch, once, in the utmost strait
    By dogs of nose so delicate,
    Approach'd a gallows, where,
    A lesson to like passengers,
    Or clothed in feathers or in furs,
    Some badgers, owls, and foxes, pendent were.
    Their comrade, in his pressing need,
    Arranged himself among the dead.
    I seem to see old Hannibal
    Outwit some Roman general,
    And sit securely in his tent,
    The legions on some other scent.
    But certain dogs, kept back
    To tell the errors of the pack,
    Arriving where the traitor hung,
    A fault in fullest chorus sung.
    Though by their bark the welkin rung,
    Their master made them hold the tongue.
    Suspecting not a trick so odd,
    Said he, 'The rogue's beneath the sod.
    My dogs, that never saw such jokes,
    Won't bark beyond these honest folks.'

    The rogue would try the trick again.
    He did so to his cost and pain.
    Again with dogs the welkin rings;
    Again our fox from gallows swings;
    But though he hangs with greater faith,
    This time, he does it to his death.
      So uniformly is it true,
      A stratagem is best when new.
    The hunter, had himself been hunted,
    So apt a trick had not invented;
    Not that his wit had been deficient;--
      With that, it cannot be denied,
    Your English folks are well-provision'd;--
    But wanting love of life sufficient,
      Full many an Englishman has died.
    One word to you, and I must quit
      My much-inviting subject:
      A long eulogium is a project
    For which my lyre is all unfit.
    The song or verse is truly rare,
    Which can its meed of incense bear,
    And yet amuse the general ear,
    Or wing its way to lands afar.
    Your prince[37] once told you, I have heard,
      (An able judge, as rumour says,)
    That he one dash of love preferr'd
      To all a sheet could hold of praise.
    Accept--'tis all I crave--the offering
    Which here my muse has dared to bring--
      Her last, perhaps, of earthly acts;
      She blushes at its sad defects.
      Still, by your favour of my rhyme,
  Might not the self-same homage please, the while,
      The dame who fills your northern clime
      With wingèd emigrants sublime
          From Cytherea's isle?[38]
      By this, you understand, I mean
      Love's guardian goddess, Mazarin.[39]

  Long from the monarch of the stars
    The daughters of the mud received
  Support and aid; nor dearth nor wars,
    Meanwhile, their teeming nation grieved.
  They spread their empire far and wide
  Through every marsh, by every tide.
  The queens of swamps--I mean no more
    Than simply frogs (great names are cheap)--
  Caball'd together on the shore,
    And cursed their patron from the deep,
  And came to be a perfect bore.
  Pride, rashness, and ingratitude,
  The progeny of fortune good,
  Soon brought them to a bitter cry,--
  The end of sleep for earth and sky.
  Their clamours, if they did not craze,
  Would truly seem enough to raise
  All living things to mutiny
  Against the power of Nature's eye.
  The sun,[41] according to their croak,
  Was turning all the world to smoke.
  It now behoved to take alarm,
  And promptly powerful troops to arm.
    Forthwith in haste they sent
      Their croaking embassies;
    To all their states they went,
      And all their colonies.
    To hear them talk, the all
  That rides upon this whirling ball,
  Of men and things, was left at stake
  Upon the mud that skirts a lake!
  The same complaint, in fens and bogs,
    Still ever strains their lungs;
  And yet these much-complaining frogs
    Had better hold their tongues;
  For, should the sun in anger rise,
  And hurl his vengeance from the skies,
  That kingless, half-aquatic crew
  Their impudence would sorely rue.

    A mouse was once in mortal fear
    Of a cat that watch'd her portal near.
    What could be done in such a case?
  With prudent care she left the catship,
    And courted, with a humble grace,
    A neighbour of a higher race,
  Whose lordship--I should say his ratship--
      Lay in a great hotel;
    And who had boasted oft, 'tis said,
    Of living wholly without dread.
      'Well,' said this braggart, 'well,
      Dame Mouse, what should I do?
        Alone I cannot rout
      The foe that threatens you.
    I'll rally all the rats about,
    And then I'll play him such a trick!'
      The mouse her court'sy dropp'd,
    And off the hero scamper'd quick,
  Nor till he reach'd the buttery stopp'd,
    Where scores of rats were clustered,
    In riotous extravagance,
    All feasting at the host's expense.
    To him, arriving there much flustered,
        Indeed, quite out of breath,
      A rat among the feasters saith,
  'What news? what news? I pray you, speak.'
  The rat, recovering breath to squeak,
  Replied, 'To tell the matter in a trice,
  It is, that we must promptly aid the mice;
    For old Raminagrab is making
    Among their ranks a dreadful quaking.
    This cat, of cats the very devil,
    When mice are gone, will do us evil.'
      'True, true,' said each and all;
      'To arms! to arms!' they cry and call.
        Some ratties by their fears
        Were melted e'en to tears.
        It matter'd not a whisk,
          Nor check'd the valour brisk.
            Each took upon his back
            Some cheese in haversack,
          And roundly swore to risk
            His carcass in the cause.
          They march'd as to a feast,
          Not flinching in the least.--
        But quite too late, for in his jaws
        The cat already held the mouse.
        They rapidly approach'd the house--
      To save their friend, beyond a doubt.
      Just then the cat came growling out,
      The mouse beneath his whisker'd nose.
      And march'd along before his foes.
      At such a voice, our rats discreet,
          Foreboding a defeat,
        Effected, in a style most fleet,
          A fortunate retreat.
      Back hurried to his hole each rat,
  And afterwards took care to shun the cat.

      Offspring of her to whom, to-day,
      While from thy lovely self away,
      A thousand hearts their homage pay,
  Besides the throngs whom friendship binds to please,
  And some whom love presents thee on their knees!
    A mandate which I cannot thrust aside
    Between you both impels me to divide
    Some of the incense which the dews distil
    Upon the roses of a sacred hill,
      And which, by secret of my trade,
      Is sweet and most delicious made.
      To you, I say, ... but all to say
      Would task me far beyond my day;
      I need judiciously to choose;
      Thus husbanding my voice and muse,
      Whose strength and leisure soon would fail.
    I'll only praise your tender heart, and hale,
      Exalted feelings, wit, and grace,
  In which there's none can claim a higher place,
    Excepting her whose praise is your entail.
      Let not too many thorns forbid to touch
      These roses--I may call them such--
      If Love should ever say as much.
    By him it will be better said, indeed;
    And they who his advices will not heed,
        Scourge fearfully will he,
        As you shall shortly see.

      A blooming miracle of yore
      Despised his godship's sovereign power;
      They call'd her name Alcimadure.
      A haughty creature, fierce and wild,
      She sported, Nature's tameless child.
      Rough paths her wayward feet would lead
        To darkest glens of mossy trees;
      Or she would dance on daisied mead,
        With nought of law but her caprice.
          A fairer could not be,
          Nor crueller, than she.
      Still charming in her sternest mien,--
      E'en when her haughty look debarr'd,--
      What had she been to lover in
        The fortress of her kind regard!
      Daphnis, a high-born shepherd swain,
      Had loved this maiden to his bane.
      Not one regardful look or smile,
      Nor e'en a gracious word, the while,
      Relieved the fierceness of his pain.
      O'erwearied with a suit so vain,
        His hope was but to die;
        No power had he to fly.
      He sought, impell'd by dark despair,
      The portals of the cruel fair.
    Alas! the winds his only listeners were!
      The mistress gave no entrance there--
      No entrance to the palace where,
      Ingrate, against her natal day,
      She join'd the treasures sweet and gay
      In garden or in wild-wood grown,
      To blooming beauty all her own.
            'I hoped,' he cried,
      'Before your eyes I should have died;
    But, ah! too deeply I have won your hate;
      Nor should it be surprising news
      To me, that you should now refuse
        To lighten thus my cruel fate.
      My sire, when I shall be no more,
      Is charged to lay your feet before
    The heritage your heart neglected.
  With this my pasturage shall be connected,
  My trusty dog, and all that he protected;
      And, of my goods which then remain,
      My mourning friends shall rear a fane.
  There shall your image stand, midst rosy bowers,
      Reviving through the ceaseless hours
      An altar built of living flowers.
      Near by, my simple monument
      Shall this short epitaph present:
  "Here Daphnis died of love. Stop, passenger,
      And say thou, with a falling tear,
    This youth here fell, unable to endure
      The ban of proud Alcimadure."'

      He would have added, but his heart
      Now felt the last, the fatal dart.
    Forth march'd the maid, in triumph deck'd,
      And of his murder little reck'd.
  In vain her steps her own attendants check'd,
                  And plead
        That she, at least, should shed,
        Upon her lover dead,
          Some tears of due respect.
      The rosy god, of Cytherea born,
      She ever treated with the deepest scorn:
  Contemning him, his laws, and means of damage,
  She drew her train to dance around his image,
          When, woful to relate,
    The statue fell, and crush'd her with its weight!
      A voice forth issued from a cloud,--
      And echo bore the words aloud
        Throughout the air wide spread,--
    "Let all now love--the insensible is dead."
      Meanwhile, down to the Stygian tide
        The shade of Daphnis hied,
      And quaked and wonder'd there to meet
      The maid, a ghostess, at his feet.
      All Erebus awaken'd wide,
      To hear that beauteous homicide
      Beg pardon of the swain who died--
      For being deaf to love confess'd,
        As was Ulysses to the prayer
        Of Ajax, begging him to spare,
      Or as was Dido's faithless guest.[44]

  Three saints, for their salvation jealous,
  Pursued, with hearts alike most zealous,
    By routes diverse, their common aim.
    All highways lead to Rome: the same
    Of heaven our rivals deeming true,
  Each chose alone his pathway to pursue.
  Moved by the cares, delays, and crosses
  Attach'd to suits by legal process,
  One gave himself as judge, without reward,
  For earthly fortune having small regard.
      Since there are laws, to legal strife
      Man damns himself for half his life.
  For half?--Three-fourths!--perhaps the whole!
      The hope possess'd our umpire's soul,
    That on his plan he should be able
    To cure this vice detestable.--
    The second chose the hospitals.
      I give him praise: to solace pain
      Is charity not spent in vain,
    While men in part are animals.
  The sick--for things went then as now they go--
  Gave trouble to the almoner, I trow.
    Impatient, sour, complaining ever,
    As rack'd by rheum, or parch'd with fever,--
      'His favourites are such and such;
      With them he watches over-much,
        And lets us die,' they say,--
      Such sore complaints from day to day
      Were nought to those that did await
      The reconciler of debate.
      His judgments suited neither side;
        Forsooth, in either party's view,
        He never held the balance true,
      But swerved in every cause he tried.

    Discouraged by such speech, the arbiter
    Betook himself to see the almoner.
  As both received but murmurs for their fees,
    They both retired, in not the best of moods,
    To break their troubles to the silent woods,
  And hold communion with the ancient trees.
      There, underneath a rugged mountain,
      Beside a clear and silent fountain,
  A place revered by winds, to sun unknown,
  They found the other saint, who lived alone.
      Forthwith they ask'd his sage advice.
      'Your own,' he answer'd, 'must suffice;
      Who but yourselves your wants should know?
      To know one's self, is, here below,
      The first command of the Supreme.
  Have you obey'd among the bustling throngs?
  Such knowledge to tranquillity belongs;
    Elsewhere to seek were fallacy extreme.
  Disturb the water--do you see your face?
    See we ourselves within a troubled breast?
      A murky cloud in such a case,
      Though once it were a crystal vase!
      But, brothers, let it simply rest,
  And each shall see his features there impress'd.
  For inward thought a desert home is best.'

        Such was the hermit's answer brief;
        And, happily, it gain'd belief.

  But business, still, from life must not be stricken
  Since men will doubtless sue at law, and sicken,
  Physicians there must be, and advocates,--
  Whereof, thank God, no lack the world awaits,
  While wealth and honours are the well-known baits.
  Yet, in the stream of common wants when thrown,
  What busy mortal but forgets his own?
  O, you who give the public all your care,
      Be it as judge, or prince, or minister,
  Disturb'd by countless accidents most sinister,
  By adverse gales abased, debased by fair,--
  Yourself you never see, nor see you aught.
  Comes there a moment's rest for serious thought,
  There comes a flatterer too, and brings it all to nought.
    This lesson seals our varied page:
    O, may it teach from age to age!
    To kings I give it, to the wise propose;
  Where could my labours better close?[45]