J'5'*?iWw ■ 1 1 lit 1 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES FABLES IN SONG *S . 5. FABLES IN SONG BY EOBEET LOED LYTTON AUTHOR OF ' POEMS BY OWEN MEREDITH ' VOL. II. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBUKGH AND LONDON MDCCCLXXIV All Rights reserved CONTEXTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. INTRODUCTORY, XXIX. FIAT JUSTITIA, XXX. THE ROCK, .... XXXI. DEMOS, .... XXXII. A PROMETHEUS UNBOUND, XXXIII. VALOUR, .... XXXIV. PAIN, ..... XXXV. QUESTIONABLE CONSOLATION, . XXXVI. FORGIVE AND FORGET, XXXVII. THE MOUNTAINS OF TIME, XXXVIII. CONSERVATION OF FORCE, XXXIX. HOMERIDES, .... XL. POINTS DE VUE— POINT DE VUE, XLI. PYRRHONISM ; OR, THE HAUNTED HEN, XLII. THE MOUNTAIN AND THE MARSH, XLIII. TELEOLOGY, .... XLIV. COGITO ERGO SUM, PAGE 1 5 30 36 44 48 62 68 72 76 86 89 92 96 99 109 114 271657 VI CONTENTS. XI. v. PHIL080PHV OF Tin I i i i I xi. \ i. MAS! KB AT i r ■ > m i , XI.VII. THE PLANE ami THE PENKNIFE, XI.Vlll. I in. I'l: \' IND I in: W SEEL, . XI. IX. A ll.Ui.ll l V BPIR1 I Bl FORE A FAI I . L. THE KOBE AND THE BRAMB] 1.1. DUOUNT VOLENTEM FATA : HOLBNTEM TEA HINT, .... I.II. BUtTM QUIQUE, .... I. III. THE TWO TRAVELLERS ; OB, LOVE AND DEATH I.IV. AN II.I.-ASSnllTKD COUPLE, I.V. BETWEEN HAMMEK AND ANVIL, I.VI. HOMO HOMIN1 1111 8, . I. Vll. THE HORSE AND THE FLY, I, VIII. i:r i .'.I l i: \ l.T I .1.1 ERA, I. IX. MdNl'MINHM ARE PERENNIUS, I.X. SANS SOOCI, .... 120 128 133 137 142 149 153 161 166 173 177 183 189 193 200 ■JIM', ERRATA. Vol. II., p. 7, 9th line from top of page, for Should scarce, such momentary beauty hack, Read Should scare such momentary beauty back. Vol. II., p. 65, for Fatigue themselves in torturing mankind, Get out of breath in running down their prey ! Read, Get out of breath in running down their prey, Fatigue themselv r es in torturing mankind ! Vol. II., Table of Contents, page vi ; also page 161, title; and 163, 165, head of pages; for Suum qui que read Suum cuique. INTRODUCTORY 1. A little bird fares well in Spring. For all she wants she finds enough, And every casual common thing She makes her own without rebuff'. 2. First, wool and hair from sheep and cow : Then twig and straw, to bind them fast, From thicket and from thatch : and now A little nest is built at last. 3. From out that little nest shall rise, When woods are warm, a living song, A music mixt with light, that flies Thro' fluttering shade the leaves among. VOL. n. A lXTiionrcTokY, Its liome ? straw, twig', ami wool, and hair. Mere nothings, these, to house or herd. Who made tlit.Mii something, luadti them fair, Making them all her own ? The bird. 5. little bird, take everything, And build thy nesl without rebuflF, And, when thy nest is builded, sing ! For who can praise thy song enough ? And some believe (believe they wrong?) If like the bird the bard could sing, That, like the bird, fit home for Song The bard would find in everything 7. By casual grace of common chance From house and herd, from thick and 1 hatch, Assign'd for Song's inheritance Had Son- the gifi that -race to catch. INTRODUCTORY. 8. Such things I found, by passers-by As rubbish from the roadside thrust ; Which poets, seeking poesy, Disdain'd to rescue from the dust. 9. Yet here they are — not rubbish now I fain would hope. Do critics stare, Eeserve applause, and rub the brow ? Oh that a little bird I were ! FABLES IN SONG. XXIX. FIAT JUSTITIA. CANTO THE FIRST. — THEORY. 1. Simplicius was a man of good condition. Whose naturally easy disposition Found in his easy fortunes natural vent. He, for that reason, was benevolent ; But tho' he sought to find Benevolence Efficient sanction in the social sense Of Justice, much his feelings were offended By the unsocial, unjust, things that men did. FABLES IN SONG. For, in the world around him, everywhere He saw but envy, arrogai , and care, M dice, and fear, oppression, and mistrust, Anarchic, anti social, soul-depraving. 2. •• Alas : " he thought, " if men would be but just, Then life would be for every man worth having ! But, tho', in practice, all of them ign What justice claims, in theory, they cry ■ Fiat justitia / ' adding evermore ■ P( reat mundud ." Pereat mundits, why I Wherefore a pereat to this glorious world. Which cordially to all of us cries vivat ' Far be from me that hateful pereat hurl'd ! The goal 'tis my ambition to arrive a1 I Justice and Enjoyment too, combined." I H't hath the love of justice caused confusion. And much this thought conceal. The chief part of her lii'edon^ holiday (As tho 1 it were her only care on earth To keep her soft -ell' warm) a (dump she lay I If cream-white languid limbs beside the hearth ; < >r ruhh'd her lithe hack in a flattering how \ j ainsl the legs of her g 1 lord and master, Smoothing those BpotleSS Hakes of furry BUOW In which, for whiteness, not Monl Blanc Burpass'd her ; FIAT JUSTITIA. 13 Or, in the firelight's fluctuating glow, Curl'd on his lap and safe from all disaster, She purr'd as tho' she to herself, half-sleepiug, Were telling o'er her dreams in drowsy tone ; Or else, ahout the chairs and tahles leaping, (A frolic phantom scarcely seen ere gone) She whisk'd, and frisk'd, and flitted here and there, Fitful as fancy, and as childhood fair. To these two qualities of Charm and Grace "Which he in Bird and Cat together got, Simplicius added, in the third good place, Fidelity — so true, man finds it not Save in a dog. The Dog of our Simplicius Was great and good ; and well deserved, poor fellow, A name less ominous of deeds flagitious Than chance had given him — say Philax, Bello, Or Lion, even, or Turk — for he was hold (Albeit without a touch of temper vicious) But !N"ero 1 . . . cramm'd with cruelties untold, Whose character was, like his name, nigritious, — A name recalling murders manifold ! Such was the name this dog, by chance capricious, Had been baptised with, when, but three months old, His tender age might, sure, have guaranteed him Against the libellous title thus decreed him. 14 FABLES IN SONG. 5. 1 1 pure gold, oozed from out the Age of Gold. Could, in a living form, have gloVd <>n earth, None better fitted to present, and hold I'n.sullii'd, its primaeval perfect worth Could earth have found it, than our Nero's own ; Nor more in colour kindred to the hue Whereby that noble metal may be known. For tawny-colour'd was our Nero too, As gold is : short-hair'd, all a yellow brown ; Save for a single streak of glossy black That, with straightforward purpose, went right down The whole length of his honourable hack, And his most eloquently honest tail ; Which wagged warm welcome to the world all round. Black, too, and bright as brightly burnisht mail, The single star that his fair forehead crown'd, And Mack his muzzle was: the unshell'd snail No blacker shines, whose damp and jetty sheen Jewels the fresh stalks of the rain-drench'd fennel When Nero, his stoop'd head flat-based between Firm-planted forepaws, peeping from his kennel. Lay Btretch'd sedate in soothing noontide sleep; Whilst loyal vigilance unlull'd and keen (No sound escaping its quick silent comment) still linger'd in the watchful tremulous wink I m drowsy lids that twitch'd at every momi at, And duty sal in Berious wrinkles deep Across his brow's sagacious breadth, — 1 think FIAT JUSTITIA. 15 That had some Attic sculptor seen that sight, Grasping his chisel with an eager hand, He would have cried, in satisfied delight, " Behold the perfect sculpturesque expression Of Property ! " And, forced to understand The imprudence of his wonted prepossession Against the law of Moses and the land, A thief, perchance, some honest awe might feel, And pass on murmuring "Thou shalt not steal!" Between Fidelity, and Charm, and Grace, For Humour of a grave and thoughtful kind, In ursine form, long while a vacant place Simplicius kept "before he chanced to find Its fit incumbent. For the ursine race, "Whose sage demeanour and prodigious force Might with the race of man have long competed Had they hut chosen to dispute man's course, Have, far from man, to hermit haunts retreated, And lone they dwell among the mountains lonely. Man "boasts, as tho' the trick must needs endear him To all four-footed animals at least, That he can go upon his hind paAvs only. For this, and for his faculty to feast "Upon all kinds of food, the beasts revere him As being the most universal beast. But in these two respects the Bear comes near him ; Tho' differing in a third (and not, I fear 16 FABLES IN BONG. To man's advantage) oamely in good nature. < > Timon ! Timon ! hadst thou been a bear, Those maledictions, by a human creature On human creatures .hurl'd, not even despair Would then have wrung from thy resentment Guile, Deceit, and treachery, and treason black Bruin (for so was named in simple style This shaggy much-tried Bage) had known, alack, In all their hateful human forms, long while Ere from a filthy vagrant Bosniac Simplicius bought him — unembitter'd yet, And so good-natured that across his hack lie let a pert and pranksome monkey get, Pretend to ride him, and, impetuous, smack A saucy whip. Himself a minuet With sad and stately gesture sumctiinos deign'd To dance to music rude of drum and Bfe, Tho' oft the mirth of vulgar crowds profaned This melancholy pastime of a life Which had known better days. Alas poor Bruin ! A trustful nature and, for safe fruition, A love, too fond — of honey — proved his ruin. Rogues had imposed on his sweel disposition And made him smart for it. Hut Fortune now SeemM on his fate to smile with fairer brow. Simplicius built him in the castle court A spacious mansion for his calm resort Rail'd parapets of stone did there environ Eia Bleeping chamber girt with grates of iron. And, in the midst of this deep-sunk domain, FIAT JUSTITIA. 17 A dead tree, planted by man's labour fast, Served for his perch whene'er the sage was fain (Like " Science in her speculative tower ") A general glance around the world to cast, With soul unbounded by his lonely bower. So in Siniplicius' hospitable hall Did Grace and Charm, its daily inmates, dwell. And, round about those happy precincts, all Went blithe and " merry as a marriage bell." The Bird " his native wood-notes warbled wild." The Cat, like some white curl'd-up humming shell, Purr'd by the hearth contentment calm and mild. The Dog bark'd welcome loud and wagg'd delight To his approving master morn and night. And he, the blissful owner of these joys, When he, at any moment, felt inclined To meditative moods, whose charm decoys From shallower pleasures oft the pensive mind, Would sit and muse above that bear-pit wide. Whence many a mournful monitory growl With solemn music stirr'd aud edified To heights sublime his contemplative soul. Sullen it was, nay surly seem'd the sound. But surly too, nor feebly feminine, Is that majestic charm by fancy found In Melancholy's deep and sullen eyne What time she doth a manly sex assume. VOL. II. b 1** FABLES IN SONG. And tli, it is why, when either love or wine In manly boson Is ungenial gloom, Chilling with churlish 3cowl some revel garish, We call such melancholy conduct— bearish. I A.NTO THE THIRD. — EXPERIENCE. 1. This pleasant life, so calm and so caressing, Was interrupted hy a journey brief Simplicius, on account of business pressing, Was forced to undertake. Before the chief His castle left, he call'd into his presence An old retainer horn beneath its roof, Of all domestic virtues the quintessence; A tried and trusted spirit above proof. Whom (to secure administrative unity) With counsel carefully minute and clear II.' gave in charge of bis beloved community, The Dog, the Cat, the Blackbird, and the Bear. The business settled to his satisfaction Which drew Simplicius from his own abode, Be, with a mind relieved from all distraction And lull of longings, on his homeward road FIAT JUSTITIA. 19 One evening reach' d, when it was somewhat late, The last post station. 'Twas a tiny town, But few hours distant from his own estate. But there, his horses having broken down, For fresh relays he was constrain'd to wait. Besides, a storm was coming on. So, there Resolving prudently to pass the night, He order'd rooms and supper at The Bear ; A little hostel cheerful, clean, and bright, Whose landlord was postmaster of the village, A farmer, too, with land in his own tillage. 3. The candles lighted, and the clean cloth spread, The curtains drawn in cosier proximity About the smooth sheets of the snowy bed, For pure dreams shelter'd by demurest dimity ; Dandling his napkin with important air The obsequious waiter offer'd to Simplicius, Proud of its length, a boastful bill of fare, And list of wines, which he declared delicious. Careless as tho' it were a begging letter Simplicius glanced it over ; and, because He trusted not its pledge of viands better, He was about to order without pause A simple steak — when these words proved a whetter To his attention — ' Beat's paws, Tartar sauce.'' 20 FABLES IX SONG. This dish to him was quite a novel one. There La no reason that we can declare For thinking a plain bi efsteak, if well done, Less good for supper than grill'd paws of bear. But man's pall'd appetite his inclination Impels to range beyond the bound precise Of what he needs for simple sustentation : And to the victims of his gourmandise Simplicius felt a forcible temptation To add (since new they were, and might be nice) Grill'd paws of bear. Just as no strange intrigue, That to the list of all his old damnations Added a new seduction, could fatigue Don Juan in his search of fresh sensations. So, for the sole dish of his lonely mess table, Simplicius order'd bear's paws, to replenish The stock of his experiences digestible, And wash'd them down with half a flask of Rhenish. The dish he chose was perfectly detestable; But still his stomach did not prove rebellious, For fancy llatter'd him that he had fed I >n food which might have tempted a Vitellius. In which benign belief he went to bed. Near morn he dream'd a dream. He dream'd his Bear Was turn'd into a Lady, tall and stately: FIAT JUSTITIA. 21 And dream'd that he, himself, her fingers fair With fervour kiss'd. Then, as she smiled sedately, He sigh'd " Ah madam ! if you could hut tell How charming, grill' d with Tartar sauce, it is, Before the altar, with your heart as well, You would on me hestow the hand I kiss ! " His sleep was broken by the Postboy's horn Just as the fair dame of his dream replied Blushing, and like a lady nobly born Whose passion struggles with a modest pride, " Ah Baron, libertines such flatterers are ! And trustful fools are we. Unhand me, pray ! There's nothing in the world that can compare With dog, served up in honey, the new way." G. The sun was beaming brightly thro' the casement, Mine host had brought the coffee. From repose, Still half between amusement and amazement, Simplicius, smiling at his dream, arose : Finish'd his breakfast : lighted his cigar : And sprang into his carriage, quite elate. He knew his own good mansion was not far. A few hours brought him to the castle gate. He cross'd the court, surprised and somewhat sadden'd That Nero, faithful guardian of his hall, FABLES IN BONG. With no gay bark his silent entry gladden'd. NTor came the good dog to his mi ill. I i more, anon, thai master's heart was grieved When, to him coming o'er the cloister'd flags, Hi aged Major 1 >omo he perceived With palsied head bound up in bloody rags. And •• All my lord," the old man cried, "alas! Alas, and woe the day!" — "Why, honesi Andrew, Why such a miction 1 ? What hath come to pass?" I >nlv a heavy sigh that aged man drew. "What moan those bloody bandages)" — "Dear master," The old man whimper'd with a whine of woe, ■• My hair's clean gone in that accurst disaster, And to rny grave I in a wig must go." 8. " Man. what disaster ?"— " 0, the Bird, the Bird !" "What bird? andwhal has happen'd? tell mewhat?" Simplicius cried by sad forebodings stirr'd, "And the Cat," groan'd Andrew, "0 the Cat ! " Then on he rambled, all ejaculation, "0, my good master! O, my hair! my hair ! And ' », the Dog !" With rising agitation "The dog?" exclaim'd Simplicius. "And tin- Bear, The Bear !" groan'd Andrew. "What a situation !" ■• Quick !" cried his master, "all the truth declare." Tle-n, drop by drop as 'twere, this sad narration Oozed from the depths of the "hi man's despair. FIAT JUSTITIA. 23 9. Andrew, the moment that his lord, was gone, Had yielded to a wish long while represt, A wild emotion ever and anon Haunting good servants — to disturb their rest, And, more, their master's. For so fine a border Between extremes is in this planet scurvy, That when they want to set the house in order Your servants always turn it topsy-turvy. The house, in this case, was the bird's house merely ; But much the bird disliked that innovation. And we ourselves, Avho have experienced yearly The same conditions, and the same sensation, Can understand the bird's bewilder'd ra^e. B" treating rest 1 jssly, without success, From one nook to another of his cage, He tried to escape that demon, Cleanliness ; And at the last, his incommoded premises Deserting altogether, forth he flew. But that desertion the avenging Nemesis Of violated custom did pursue. Infatuating freedom more and more Confused his soul, already in confusion ; And now against the ceiling, now the floor, He flounced with flop, and flutter, and contusion ; Flew bounce against the cornice of the door, Then, clamorous, at the casement's cold delusion Which mock'd him (since for him they waved no more) 24 FABLES IX BONG. With sighl of waving woods in wild profusion. At length he turn'd to books for consolation, A ii.l o'ei the 1 kcase perch'd in Gothic gloom. Andrew, bewilder'd too, took that occasion To hasten to tin- pantry fur a broom. But when, with this new engine of persuasion, He to the chase return'd, — alas o'erpowering (As well it might be) was his consternation To find the Cat (more cpuick than he) devouring The last few bloody feathers of the Bird. 10. " Beast ! " cried Simplicius, when the story came To this sad point, and by resentment stirr'd He rose in haste, " I'll bring her to the scratch ! " "Alas, my lord," old Andrew cried with shame, "That's what 1 tried. But cats arc hard to catch. I hurl'd my broomstick, like a javelin, at her : She thro' the door, lefl open, darted : hard Behind her, down the stairs with cry and clatter, I after : and bo out across the yard. This Nero saw : and judged the Cat in fault. Nor judged he wrong. The little murderess fled ; But Ner,o (honesl dog) still barking 'halt' Fleet on her sly and felon footsteps sped. Poor l'nss ! . . . lie meant it for the best . and yel 'Twixt dog and rat there's ancient feud 'tis said, Like that between my lords of Capulet FIAT JUSTITIA. 25 And Montague, of which in books I've read. But I'll believe not that our Zero's breast Lodged hate like theirs — or any hate at all. Too good was he ! He meant it for the best. The Cat had sprung upon the Bear-pit's wall. The Dog sprang after. "With a gallant grip He pinn'd her by the throat, and . . . squeak!" " The brute ! " Simplieius cried, " but he shall feel my whip. Go, fetch it ! " Andrew, melancholy mute, Turn'd, brush'd his hand across his eyes, and said " Xero will never feel the whip again." 11. The old man sigh'd profoundly, shook his head, And then resumed. " Regrets and threats are vain. what a sight ! methinks I see it yet. The Cat was down. The Dog above her stood. But both were struggling on the parapet. The Cat's white coat was red with clots of blood, "With blood the Dog's black muzzle. And meanwhile, Perch'd on his pole, the Bear this conflict eyed ; Smiling, as well as such a brute can smile, And wagg'd his hideous head from side to side. His paws, with an atrocious affectation, Cross'd loose and languid o'er his bulky breast, His small eyes, all unwonted animation, Glowing expectant with a greedy zest. And all this time the monster humm'd with pleasure, 26 FABLES IX BONG. And all this time the moment's helpless dread Crippled me like a paralytic seizure. Tin- Cat, at Last, lav stilL I deem'd her dead. Is there a second Cat-world, as I'm lain To hope, where cats redeem'd, without relapse. By birds untempted, and by dogs unslaiii, Live and do better I Pardon'd there, perhaps, Each sinful puss may yet to peace attain. Else why earth's torturing trials, dogs, guns, traps ' Whilst thus I mused, up sprang the Cat again, And dealt the Dog a buffet in the chaps. Thai was her dying effort. In surprise The Dog set up a howl — recoil'd — slipp'd — fell Into the pit — I turn'd away mine i ;. And what 1 could not see I cannot tell. It overcomes me. Never to that Avail My looks are turn'd without a pang of pain. lie was a dog who, take him all in all. We shall not look upon his like again." 12. And, dnee the old man's utterance fail'd him, here Stepp'd, cap in hand, the Keeper from the clan Of listening servants who had gather'd near, And " Save your lordship's presence," he began, " 'Tis too much for the old one. Let him he. More bravely then, my lord, himself he bore. Three skips into the house to find the key, And down the stairs again in three skips more. FIAT JUSTITIA. 27 Next moment in old Bruin's den was he. Ay, without fear ! without his hat, too. "Well, Meanwhile there rested nothing but a ruin Of broken bones to mark where Nero fell, And these the Bear was mumbling. ' Bruin ! Bruin ! Bruin, you brute !' cried Andrew. Bruin stopp'd Mouthing the mangled morsels of poor Nero Which leisurely with surly calm he dropp'd, And Lord ! my heart sank in me down to zero When I beheld him on his hind legs stalking (As proud as any Christian, please your lordship) And, with a growl of beastly rage, half walking Half reeling, as we landsmen do aboard ship, Up to the old one."—" Shoot him !" groan'd Simplicius. The Keeper nodded, " That's already done. For I was there. I knew the brute was vicious, And with me, by good luck, I had my gun. 'Twas plaguy hard to aim, tho', 'twixt the pair o' them, Bruin's black waistcoat, Master Andrew's blue one — Hard to see winch the man, and which the bear, o' them — Half hid by both, one small white spot — the true one — No bigger than a button. Well, I cover — Fire — and three fall — Andrew, the Bear, and I. Ay, ay ! 'twas not my gun that kick'd me over. My heart went thump, and that I'll not deny. When I came round, my wife says, like a dumb thing I stared about, and whiter than a cheese. Good reason, too ! I knew I had kill'd something, The Bear or Andrew — one, or both of these. 28 FAI'.I.KS IX SONG. 'Twas Andrew luckily I mean, 'twas be My shot had saved. The Beat was dead as mutton. My lull was in him just where it should he, In that white spot no bigger than a hutton. 13. '• Ay, dead and done ! But 'faith I in his last jigs Ee scalp'd the old one clean as Indians do ; And that's why Andrew talks of wearing wigs, Forgetting he was bald ten years ago. But since that day the old one's just" . . . And here The keeper slowly lifted to his forehead A furtive finger. Lost in musings drear " Ah," sigh'd Simplicius, " it is all too horrid ! " Then, with a vacant dreamy air, as one AVhose thoughts are vcxt by the interposition Of some vague memory that's come and gone Before it finds within him recognition, ""What with tin' canass of the Bear was done?'' 1 I. The Keeper answer'd " With my Lord's permission, 'A badger's half a sort of hear,' said I. The badger Is the Keeper's perquisite, And. deeming thus the Bear mine own, for why ? I shot him, nor could beai 1"- better hit, I kinn'd the beast. Bis grease I melted down. The barbers bought it. For next winter's cold FIAT JUSTITIA. 29 His fur I kept. And in the market town His venison to a poulterer I sold." " Heavens ! " groan'd Siniplicius, and against his brow He struck his fist. For now the truth flash'd clear, And he remorsefully remember'd how He had eaten his own bear's paws at The Bear. 15. The Cat had eaten up the Bird : ere she In turn, a victim, to the Dog had pass'd. The Bear had feasted on the Dog : and he, Horror, had feasted on the Bear at last ! Thus he who, for their orgies too carnivorous, Against Cat, Dog, and Bear had just protested Was proved (from such injustice Saints deliver us !) To have both eaten, relish'd, and digested The Bear, and, with the Bear, the Bear's own dinner, Bird, Cat, and Dog, besides — vicarious sinner ! 16. He gazed around him with a rueful eye That miss'd each loved and lately murder'd quality. In fancy he beheld the Blackbird die ; The Cat a victim to the Dog's brutality ; The Dog devour'd by the Bear ; and by Himself the Bear, with Roman sensuality Of stomach audax omnia perpeti ! And, seeing too, no fancy but reality, The scalp'd pate of his mangled Major Domo, " Fiat justitia" groan'd he, " pereat homo /" 30 FABLES IN BONG. XXX. THE ROCK 1. For ages standing, still for ages stood (To stand and to withstand "was all his can) A Rock : whose feet were in the unfathom'd ilood, His forehead in the illimitable air. Upon his brow the centuries beat, And left it, as they found it, hare; The rolling waters round his feei Eoll'd, and rull'd otherwhere. And those cold feet of his the fawning wavi - Lick'd, slave like, ever with a furtive sigh ; Save when at times they rose, and (still like slaves) In rel.el scum, with insubordinate cry, Strove, and, tho' fiercely, strove in vain To drag down him that stood so high ; Then fell ; and at his feel again I'awn'd with a furtive sigh. THE ROCK. 31 3. The Storm and he were brothers ; but in feud. One lived a station'd, one a wandering, life This to subdue, that to be unsubdued, Put forth his strength in unfraternal strife. The burden of one weary brother Was to resist, and to remain : A fiercer fate impell'd the other To strive, and strive in vain. A homeless wanderer over the wide world, A sullen spirit with a fleeting form, That pass'd in soil'd and tumid mantle furl'd, For ever and for ever roam'd the Storm. But o'er the sea, with shoidders bent And backward scowl before the blast, He, flying, to his discontent Beheld the Bock stand fast ; And lingering hover' d, restless, round and round, To vex the rest that vex'd him. But the Bock, Beaten and buffeted, yet not uncrown'd, Stood, and withstood ; and sadly seem'd to mock The Force which cries from age to age In accent fierce " Give way ! " 32 FAIJLKS IN S().\<;. With that which, ignorant of rage, For ever answers " Nay ! " G. Then stoopM the Storm, and whisper'd to the waves. "Are ye so many, and afraid of one? The world is yours, if ye but knew, poor slaves ! Dare to be lords, and lo, the world La won !" To that wild tempter's whisper rose Their hundred heads, soon dasht in spray ; But these succeeding fast to those Renew'd the frustrate fray ; Until the Storm could lilt the waves no higher; Then, with a scornful sigh letting them fall, And self-pursued by unappeased desire. He left them, as he fotiml them, slaves. And all That strife without result for eveT finds only to begin again ; Subsiding but for fresh endeavour, Eternal, yet in vain. 8. But, in the intervals of time, amo The fissures of the Knck, have birds of prey Built themselves nests : who, fishing for their young, Dive in the waves, and snatch the fish away. THE ROCK. 2'. And heaven its feather'd generations Renews to vex from year to year The sea's folk, as their scaly nations Appear, and disappear. 9. The fishes needs must suffer and endure, Unable to retaliate on the birds ; And of their fishy wrongs which find no cure The wide-mouth'd fools complain in watery words, " Hath Providence for pasture given The weak for ever to the strong 1 Is there no justice, then, in Heaven 1 ~No sense of right and wrong 1 " 10. The Storm (that never leaves it long at rest) Eeturn'd anon to trouble the still sea, But that eternal revolutionist Seem'd to these short-lived sufferers to be A young deliverer, waited long, Whom, in the fulness of late time, Heaven raised to rectify the wrong, And punish prosperous crime. 11. And when the devastating waves roll'd high, And drave the birds, and drench'd their dwellings thro', VOL. II. C 34 FABLES IN BONG. The fishes cried, exulting, " Verily There is a judge that judgeth just and true ! The judgment day hath dawn'd at last : Now strikes tin' final judgment hour : The future shall redeem the past, And lift the poor to power ! " 12. Tin- Rock stooil last -tho' bare of nest and bird : The Storm was spent : the sunk sea ceased from striving, Ami, in the stillness, that grey hermit heard This fuss of exultation ami thanksgiving. The water trickled from his wet Wave-ravaged crest, and dripp'd below, As, after battle, drops the sweat I )own from a hero's brow. 13. " Is it for this," within him mused the strong And melancholy spirit of his life, "For this, that I stand here — who knoweth how long, Who knoweth wherefore? — in eternal strife ! And gaze into the nether deep And up to heaven's huge hollowness, And, while the ages o'er me sweep, Question the void abyss, THE BOCK. 35 14. " Sad, yet supreme ; and weary, yet awake ! And must I listen still, and still must hear, How of a final judgment — for their sake — (Their sake, who hut appear to disappear !) These sprats and sparrows gurgle and twitter 1 " So mused the Eock ; his gray Bare summit redden'd hy the glitter Of the departing day. 15. And, whilst he mused, athwart the tremhling plain His shade, unnoticed, sped with stealthy flight Far on the dim horizon to attain The obscurely safe asylum of the night ; As tho', for once, unvext, unview'd, That Rock's soul fain would he From the eternal solitude Of his own greatness free. 16. But greatness grants to greatness no escape. Fierce on the timorous vagrant's furtive track The sudden sunrise flashing smote this shape Of baffled darkness to its birthplace back ; And there, where Splendour seem'd to mock Its slave whose flight was vain, Deep in his own brave heart the Rock Buried his shade again. 3G FABLES IN SONG. XXXI. DEMOS. TART I. When Light first dawn'd, to Chaos came repose : Shapes, from the sheeted shapelessness unfurl'd, Took rank in order ranged : the Mountains rose, And found themselves the monarchs of the world. The sunrise, hearing tribute, all night long Travell'd the globe, and brought them eastern gold 1 ). lily at earliest dawn. Bright breastplates strong The skill'd frost forged them of white-colourM cold. Hound their firm thrones sharp lightnings flash'd like swords, And guarding thunders girl their crowns. The plain 1'xirc, in fond homage to his highborn lords, The Bloating purple of their princely train. Forest, to deck their pomp, with forest vied, Mantled, and clasp'd them round with emerald zones; DEMOS. 37 « Whilst dainty lawns spread broider'd carpets wide O'er all the soft approaches to their thrones, For easy kneeling. Clouds, like stately cares That haunt the sombre foreheads of the great, Burthen'd their brows. But eagles, too, were theirs, That eyed the sun undazzled, and elate As bold ambitions in imperial minds. To earth's far frontiers, bearing banner'd shower And blowing solemn trump, the winged winds, Their wandering heralds, did proclaim their power. The fertile rivers, and fresh streams, were fed On the rich bounty of their royal grace. Each rebel billow at their feet fell dead. They were creation's crown'd and sceptred race. But, scorn'd, obscure, down trampled in the dirt And miry drench of their dark hollows, lay Unable to uplift himself — inert, And lacking noble form — the lumpish Clay. And to himself the Clay said " Trodden down, Here in abasement must I bear their scorn Who, glittering with a glory not their own, Boast of the accident of being born In lofty station 1 Fashion'd were we both Of the same substance, gender'd from the womb Of the same mother ; and shall theirs, forsooth, Be all the glory, and all mine the gloom 1 'Twere better not to be, than to be thus, Earth's common footstool. Better not to live 271657 38 FABLES IN Sum;. Than to live under lorddom tyrannous, Strong to endure, but impotenl to Btrive ! Yei musl I bide me, and my wrongs, away, Till strike mine hour. And strike it will. Mean- while, Patience, be thou my prophet ! " And the Clay Slunk from the sun's unsynipathising smile, And roll'd himself into the river's bed, And there lay hidden. Time pass'd. Man appear *d, And laid his hand on Nature. For his bread The glebe was harrow'd, and the forest clear'd. He turn'd, and tamed, the torrent to his will : Bridged the broad river, fell'd the flourishing oak : 1 1 roped in the granite bowels of the hill For hidden ore : and rent with flame and smoke The ribs of royal mountains. Down they came. Shorn by the saw, and measured by the rod, To build man's palaces, and bear his name Carved in their tlesh. The earth had a new god. taut n. Large was the chamher ; bathed with light serene And silence tuned, not troubled, by the sound I If f pitchers, huddled in a slimy trough, The Lumpish Clay. " I'.aseborn, how darest thou show Thy fair in Beauty's sanctuary 1 Off! hid not I banish thee when I" . . . "When thou Thyself wast yet unhanisht, wouldst thou say? True! in thy pride thou couldst not then foresee The hour when me thou must perforce obey. For thou ///// have to obey me." — " Obey thee ?" " Ay ! grinding thy gnasht teeth against the fine Keen Hitting chisel, when thy nature stern .Must needs submit to serve each fluent line My form imposes on it ; that, in turn, Thou mayst, by following me, be something." — " 1 ! / follow thee, wretch?" — " Ho ! not broken yet Is thy proud spirit? Patience ! By and by Thou, too, wilt need, as 1 have needed, it." PART III. The Artist strode into the statued hall, \'\< to the block; and, with pleased eyes perused The Marble's snowy sides, slow measuring all The length and breadth of them. The while he mused, Into the stone, with such intense regard, Hi> deep gaze dived, that in a mystic thrill It felt his human eye, throughout its hard And frozen bulk, with a creative will DEMOS. 41 Awakening beauteous forms in slumber claspt, Which heaved as tho' that will they half fore- knew. Sudden, he stretch'd his searching hand, and grasp'd . . . — Ah strange ! 'Twas not the Chisel that now flew Dartlike, obedient to that aiming eye, Into the heart of the expectant stone. His Thought plunged, kneading, in the trough hard by, And clods of viscous Clay, one after one, Thick on the table thump'd with clumsy thud : There, grew together : wormlike writhing, rose Pliant to every touch : until the mud, Gliding and glutinous, 'gan half disclose The thought that quicken'd it. Its impish speed "Was half, like Caliban, ungainly, half, Like Ariel, delicate, till Fancy freed Her image struggling from it. With low laugh " Seest thou 1 " it lisp'd and mutter'd. " Seest thou 1 Try To follow me now ; and mine image take Upon thee. Which of us hath (I or thou) The fine creative faculty to make Ideas first corporeal 1 " And, complete In clay, a statue stood before the gaze Of the astonisht Marble. Then, to eat Slowly, and gnaw through all the intricate maze Of netted lines about his body thrown, The griding chisel, with three-corner'd wedge, 42 FABLES IN BONG. Ground his keen tooth upon the spluttering Btone Which sprang and split in sparkles round the edge, Driven by the dancing mallei. l'.\ degrees The out-thrust throat and formidable fa< Assume imperative purpose : fingers .-''\zq And grasp the fluttering scrollwith eager grace : The deep eye darkens under heetling brows : The hall-uplifted arm begins to shake The toga's massive fold, that backward Hows: And the stretcht linger points. What words awake Upon those quivering lips? What thunder-speech Upheaves the fierce Democracy, and breaks The power of pale Patricians cowering each From that curl'd lip ? Tor lo, the Tribune speaks! The Tribune? proud Marble, royal born, Thou the coarse organ of the Demos ? thou ! ■• Art thou enough humiliated, Scorn? Pride, is thy loftiness at last brought low ? " The base material, to the nobler one Form'd after its own image, sneer'd. " P,y Me, And after me ! 'Tis thus, and thus alone, That, proud one, thou henceforth bast leave to he." Hut the pure Marble, in the image clothed Of a new power, still conscious to the last I M all his ancient force, made answer " Loathed Abortive botch ! A granted garb thou hast, But think not thou art sale in it. ' By thee?' Through, thee, say rather : who hast now made known DEMOS. 43 Undream.' cl of means, and mightier ones, to me Of being above thee. Look, fool, on thine own "Futile and perishable frame. Behold ! Already runs the gaping fissure straight From head to heel. For all thy boasting bold, Tby tottering limbs can scarce support the weight Of thy fiaw'd body ; and thy flimsy flesh Hastily put together, may not long Uphold thy silly head. Some crevice fresh Is daily widening those loose clods among. Drunk with the fancied triumph of a day, Thou staggerest. Me, superior still, thou must Invoke to represent thee. Baseborn Clay, Slave of the immortal Marble, sink — in dust ! " -11 FABLES IN' SONG. X X XII. A PROMETHEUS UNBOUXP. " Ich unglucksel'ger Atlas ! " — Heinrich Heixe.* 'Twas the lot of a cork in a bottle, (Who, hound with wire, and wound with twine, Was a prisoner himself, held last by tin- throttle) To imprison a generous wine. And oh, proud, how proud of his Lol was he, The oppressor of that strong spirit to be! But alas for the chances of power, And tlio upa and dows of a ruler's life ! For once, in a festal hour, Somebody Buddenly seizing a knit'.-, (This happen'd on hoard of a fehip at sea) Cut asunder tin' bonds which till then had held fast That cork to his boasted place Then at last The fiery force in the flask, set free And upshooting a foamy fountain, tost The bung from the bottle, and overboard. * Me miserable Atlas ! A PEOMETHEUS UNBOUND. 45 And thus was his proud supremacy lost, "When sustain'd no longer by steel and cord. " Eevolution ! " that was the cork's first word, As splash ! he fell on his flimsy pate. " Such another the universe never will see. What a greatness there is in the fall of the great ! what an uprising — and all against me I And, ye gods ! what a strength was mine, so long To have held in subjection a spirit so strong ! " "Whilst thus he was speaking, o'er him descended (Taking him suddenly captive again) A broken kettle, too bad to be mended, Which the ship's cook happen'd to pitch just then Out of the cabin-window. It fell Inclosing the cork like a diving-bell ; And souse, together both cork and can Sunk to the bed of the ocean. There, in the dismal abyss, through chasms Of the scoriae crust of the daedal earth, The central fire with volcanic spasms "Was hurling upward in monstrous mirtli Mighty masses of burning stone. " Thou, too, Earth," cried the cork with a groan, " Art overwhelm'd by rebellious powers Jealous of majesty mighty as ours ! Well, such is the fate, as it seems of the great In these bad times, my Eoyal Brother ! There is something wrong in the universe. I myself, as thou seest, have suffer'd reverse. One fallen grandeur can feel for another." FABLES IX BONG. Meanwhile, that irruption submarine Was belching granite into the brine ; And the split stones, tumbling heavy and hot, Buried beneath them cork and pot. The former ln's inborn levity, And natural disposition to keep <>n the surface (being restrain'd thereby) Made ill at ease in his dungeon deep. And he said, with a self-compassionate sigh, "The last of the Titan race am I, Titanic sufferer! Envious Fate, Of how heavy a world of Avoes thy hate, Hath made me Atlas ! " That dark Power Whose unseen fingeT fashions the hour, And guides blind Chance to her destined work, Beard this complaint of the querulous cork ; And, smiling a secret smile of contempt. Scatter' d the stones that imprison'd h im : "Who, as soon as he found himself thus exempt From external pressure, up thro' the dim Vague and voluminous element Wavering hark to the surface went. There did the light-headed Loiterer roll Frmn ripple to ripple, without a goal ; Vacant of power and purpose too; Drifting, shifting, with nothing in view. Either and thither the waters drew him : This way, that way, the breezes blew him : Fishes snapp'd a1 him now and then, Ifalf-swalh>w'd and spat him out again : A PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 47 Whilst, restored to his own inherent want Of stability, ever he lightly glided (As wave and wind were predominant) On the course by his chance — not choice — decided. Atlas ! what of thy Titan doom, Thine ocean-shroud, and thy mountain-tomb ? Flimsy fragment of fungus stuff, Too flimsy to perish, drift on still ! For in thee is not even weight enough To dive, and be drown'd, of thine own free will. 48 FABLES IN SOXG. XXXIII. VALOUR. 1. For free discussion of affairs of state The Beasts a public meeting held : and there Twas sad to hear how things had lapsed of late From bad to worse, and so degenerate were That now the greatest rascals were the great. In fact the talk was such as everywhere, Is heard at public meetings nowadays, Where those who give most censure get most praise. An Ape, much cheer'd (he chatter'd like a man) Denounced the weakness of the government. •• Where shall we find true valour I" he began. " Not in the craven crew we arc content To call oar leaders. Let him lead who can ! Old kingdoms tempi new conquerors. Prevenl The impending ruin of this empire old ! Tho' big, the brutes that lead us are not boM. VALOUR. 49 " Or only bold to weaker beasts are they. There is not one of them (and that they know) Who never yet was forced to slink away, Avoiding fight with some superior foe. But as for that, what need of leaders, pray 1 Since turning tail's a trick we all can do. True Valour flies not, tho' the foe be strong, Nor works, by force or fraud, another's wrong ; " True Valour neither seeks nor shuns to fight. Be his the royal crown, and his alone, In whom true Valour doth those gifts unite Which guard a nation and endear a throne ! " The meeting would have echo'd with delight The Ape's discourse if, ere the Ape was done, The Lion had not suddenly appear'd ; Whose presence was impressive, tho' uncheer'd. He rose, and round him roll'd a regnant eye ; Calmly contemptuous was his ample brow ; And " What is it ye want ? " he said. " If I, The Lion, be not valorous enow, Where's he, so valorous, that he dares defy My power, forsooth unprized, I fain would know 1 VOL. II. D 50 FABLES IX BONO. Is not my presence fear'd by those ye fear] Whai more protection need yel I am here. G. •• Peace, babbling mouths! Not mine the fault, but theirs, If, trusting neither in themselves nor me, Those poor poltroons, quails, pigeons, rabbits, hares, In panic flight too soon from danger flee. The foe that slays the coward unawares Is his own coward heart's timidity. Whose presence have I ever shunn'd? or who Hath seen me shrink, or" . . . " Cock-a-doodle-do ! " 7. And "Doodle-do !" again the red Cock cried.* The Lion, with disgusi beyond control, ShruggM bis huge mane — shrank — falter'd — turn'd aside, That vulgar voice, impertinently droll, I Ml'i'iisivc to his taste as to his pride, Set smarting in his sensitive strong soul A secret nerve that found there no defence I i >m the coarse touch of clumsy insolence. ' It is an "]il popular belief that the 1 i < m cannot bear the crow of Hi" cock. Schiller allndea to it in his Wallensteins Lager. The sergeanl Bays of the great fciedlander — ". . . When the cock crows lio starts thereat." To which the J8g< i replies — He's one and the same with the lion in that." VALOUR. 51 8. " There goes the bravest of the brave ! put out, Crow'd down ! " the bald Ape jabber'd to the crowd. The Bull, scarce knowing what 'twas all about, With sullen stare half stupid and half proud Had seen the dunghill bird, and heard him shout, Heedless : but, while the hubbub wax'd more loud, Close in the ear of him a crafty Crow Cried, " Seize the moment, ere the moment go ! 9. " The throne is vacant. Claim and take it, thou ! Address the people !" urged the black-robed bird. " Or let me be thine orator. I know The habits and the humours of the Herd." Then round the field he flew ; to high and low Persuasive spake, and counsell'd all who heard To choose a bovine king. " For see," he said, " "What simple tastes, and what a solid head ! 10. " Mark, too, how great a following is his ! Whose Party follows him where'er he goes. What confidence ! and how deserved it is ! On party strength well-balanced States repose. And how respectable a party this ! Republics only ripen public woes 52 I' A ISLES IN SONG. To fatten despots, lint ran aught surpass Sound Bourgeois Rule, with hrllyfuls of grass?" 11. Tlnsc worda the opinion of the public win. The cautious Stag, persuaded, plumps his vote: The Stallion's high-bred ear at once takes in What takes in hi in too : the gregarious Goat And ruminating Ram their numerous kin Lead to the poll ; and each loud-bleating throat Proclaims invested with supreme authority The Lull, by right of popular majority. 12. The Fox mark'd this with ill-contented mind. He and the Crow are rivals in their trade ; Attorneys both of pettifogging kind. Hovering about the Herd, the Crow hath made From what its foolish followers drop behind A pretty profit; by no means afraid To pick from nastiness appropriate food. Nothing's too nasty to do some one good. 13. Quite otherwise is Lawyer Reynard's way. Respectable and prosperous corporations Be hates and shuns ; seeks geese that go astray ; Haunts backyards favouring nightly visitations; VALOUR. 53 Estates ill-managed, fortunes in decay, These are his interests, these his occupations. Sound bourgeois ride he cannot bear at all : Reynard's romantic and a radical. 14. "Fine doings!" mused he, "curse that prattling Crow! A sovereign ox, with corvine ministers ? Not yet, good people, are we sunk so low If I can help it ! Patience, civic sirs ! Better the Lion ! He at least knew how To treat affairs as only grand seigneurs Are able, — on a large and liberal scale, Not stooping to contemptible detail. 15. " He knew the world, and took it as it is, Nor ask'd five legs of mutton from a sheep. Unpinn'd to prim respectabilities, Thro' many an awkward case he's let me creep, And stopp'd the cackle of accusing geese ; Quashing the trial with a sovran sweep Of his capacious and imperial paw. A king was he, whose kingly word was law ! 16. " Nor cared he for a wee mouse more or less. In battle, we shall ne'er behold his peer. 54 i Ami's in BONG. Ee wanted parliamentary address, And that's a pity; could not bear, 'tis clear, The slightest interruption. Who would guess The voice of any vulgar chanticlei 1 Could crow him down? Well, ho and I were cronies, But /"'.-■ i lay's done now. Fuimm leones ! 17. "As for the Bull, well know I where to find The heel of that Achilles ! Wait awhile, And then you'll see the dance begin ! What kind Of cant is tliis that fills my veins with bile, Of royal power with civic rights combined? Preach it to ileas, and bugs, and such canailh .' True Valour claims no corporation-clause, Lut stands complete upon its own four paws." 18. Thus musing, Master Reynard alipp'd away l'.y devious by-paths to a secret lair Where many a plot lie had been wont to lay. There now the rascal crouch'd and sniffd the air Till what he sought he found ; — a certain gay And greedy CJadHy, buzzing here and there About a heap of carrion slyly stow'd By paws felonious in that dark abode. VALOUR. 55 19. " 'Tis well to have a friend in every class, And now and then be civil to small fry," The rogue laugh'd, lolling in the long dry grass ; And, having whisper'd to her, watch'd the Fly "With zealous hum about his business pass. Then, sure of the result, indifferently He saunter'd after to the grazing ground. And, like a casual lounger, look'd around. 20. The Crow, meanwhile, with a triumphant caw, Was leading up the loyal deputation Charged to present the crown, expound the law, And hail the elected monarch of the nation. The Bull, with unconcern his subjects saw, But, graciously accepting their ovation, Stoop'd, to receive the crown, his stolid head ; When lo ! he shook, he shrank, he turn'd, he fled. 21. He fled ! his eye, bewilder'd, sought all round Some unseen formidable foe : he fled Just in the crowning moment : fled uncrown'd : Without the least word of dismissal said To his amazed admirers. On the ground Stamping, and butting with an aimless head, 5G FABLES IN BONG. Off scamperM, witli him, all his Party too. Tho' why. oi where, not one of them quite knew. 22. " There goes the second of the Suds of Fame ! " The Bcall'd Ape snicker'd to the gaping crowd. ■• Did nol I tell you? they are all the same ! Like this (iuliath hy a Gadfly cow'd, A -warm of Bees Sir Bruin overcame. Each hath his master, look he ne'er so proud. Again 1 ask — look round you left and right, Where is the chief incapable of flight?" 23. " I know tin' chief that never fled ; and know, Where now he dwells, the bravest of the brave!" This voice came, sudden, from a wither'd bough Where perehM in ]>oiup a Parrol grey and grave. Much had he fcravell'd ; much with high and low Ead mix'd; and learn'd the world; and seem'd to have in every land where he had been a rangej The world's respect : half citizen, half stranger. 24. Seldom he spake. Much given to thought he seem'd. No public office had he ever held ; VALOUR. 57 But, when he oped his heak, all listeners deern'd That they had heard an oracle of eld. Sedate his mien ; and all his language teem'd With sage enigmas : none its meaning speh'd : All praised it more for that. So judgments go. Omne ignotum pro magnfflco ! 25. Yet was this Parrot (the plain truth to own) At hottom an impostor, rake, and knave ; Who in himself had selfishly lived down That love of freedom horn in bosoms brave ; Which he regarded as the cause and crown Of all the ills that mortal life enslave. " For what's life worth," he thought, "if day by day The worth of life wear life itself away 1 26. " The tree that's not contented to be wood Doth all its strength to its own damage put, In bringing forth what brings the tree no good ; Since others pluck the apple and the nut, And each fool's toil but turns him into food For other mouths, whose greed its gettings glut. Why plague one's soul, a plaguy world to please 1 Life's only fruit worth growing is life's ease. 58 FABLES IX SONG. 27. •■ Per Bacciif" (he had been in Italy) "Give me the golden cage that I can quit Whene'er I will because men know that I, No fool, am sure to turn again to it ! ch, naught was wanting to each human will That stabb'd here ! How could this man's wounds be worse 1 12. ■• I merely keep them open. Toucht again, Tho' ne'er so lightly, each one burns and gapes. A rose-leaf does it. By disguised disdain That friendship's frank commiseration apes, M< ii taught me this. The trick is simple, see ! Yet 'neath such touches strongest spirits wince." "Away! away!" cried Hell's impatient Prince; ■• Release yon sufferer, leave his soul to me." 13. The chidden Imp, reluctant, left his prey. Like a chased fly. Man's arch accuser stood Contemplating man's victim, silent lay The wretch, unconscious of worse neighbourhood Than he had felt before. In that soul's curse The ga/e of Satan, piercing, could detect PAIN. C7 How heart and brain met shatter'd to reflect In a flaw'd mirror a warp'd universe. 14. "And thou hast suffer'd greatly?" musing said The Prince of Pain. The sufferer slowly raised The heavy burthen of a hopeless head, And, 'neath a half-uplifted eyelid, gazed Upon the Eebel Angel's ruin'd brow, And recognised Hell's Anarch, and replied Indifferently, with neither shame nor pride, Unto the voice of Satan, " Even as thou." 15. " Then 'twas too much," mutter'd the Fiend. " I own Xo peer in torment : and I scorn to share With human brows my solitary crown. Soul, — whom man's hate hath forced mine own to spare, Lest at the last extremity his prey Should prove in aught my rival, — rest ! " And slow, With wistful gesture, from that human woe Satan, half-sighing, turn'd, and fled away. 68 FABLES IN BONG. X X X V. QUESTIONABLE CONSOLATION. 1. A BUTTERFLY (and had the wretch been born With all the beauties that, at best, adorn A butterfly's complete perfection, still lie bui a butterfly had been, at best) I lame into life a cripple ; dispossest < If half his natural features; born i' the chill, Blemish t, and misbegotten; an abortion Doom'd from the birth to suffering and distortion. 2. One wing unfinisht, and misshapen one : Six legs he had, but of his six Legs none That served the purpose for which Legs are madi The piteous pivot of his own distress, Aye with self-torturing unsteadiness About himself he turn'd ; and found no aid In aught that life vouchsafed him, leg or wing, To life's attainment of one wisht-for thing. QUESTIONABLE CONSOLATION. 69 3. He saw the others hovering in the sun ; He saw them seek each other ; saw them shun Each other, by each other to be sought ; He saw them (each, itself, a second flower) On flowers, entranced by the transcendent power Of their own happiness ; he saw them, fraught "With frolic rapture, fearless wantons all ! And saw himself, unable even to crawl. " And I," he thought, " I too, was meant to be A winged joy, a wandering ecstasy ! Ah, must I envy, for his happier lot, The wingless worm that hath, complete, whate'er As worm he wants ; who wants no more, to fare Thro' life content ; by life defrauded not Of what mere life makes capable of joy Even in a worm 1 still happier far than I ! " I, to whom life refuses all things ! all Life's joy in earth, air, water ! Still too tall The tiniest stem that bears the lowliest flower For me to climb ! too rough air's lightest sigh For me to ride ! the nearest dewdrop, dry Ere I can reach it ! All, beyond my power ! 7ii FABLES IX BONG. All, save to disappear— go down — go by — Sink out of life, aot having lived — and die ! " G. The dying sun the insect's dying moan < t'erheard, and answer'd from his falling throne, k - Mourn not ! I even, I, the sun, go down, Sink, and drop into darkness. Look at me !" — lie sinks. In pompous purple, pillows he, His kingly forehead, girt with gulden crown, And. slowly, with delight his gaze grows dim, Seeing earth's sadness for the loss of him. Delicious homage of a dear dismay Paid to the happy, when they pass away, By grief not theirs ! Beneath him, prostrate, lies A world that worships hinij and everywhere Therein he finds sonic record rich and fair Of his own power. He sinks : and wistful eyes His pathway follow to its glorious bourn. He sinks: and Longing voices sigh '"Return !" 8. He passes: hut he hath not pass'd in vain. Ih- passes, proving by life's loss its gain, Ami healing with him what he leaves behind. He goes: rejoicing, "All that 1 have given QUESTIONABLE CONSOLATION. 71 Memory makes mine again, and makes it even Mine more completely than before. I sliined llising and setting. All my light was shown, And all my force was felt." Thus suns go down. 9. The boastfid orb's last glories, lingering, That cripple smote. " Go, glories ! tell your king," Smiling he said, " go, him that sent you tell, Xot all so wretched as I deem'd was I. Since I have seen how suns go down, thereby School'd have I been to know, and value well, "What they, the happy, — they that have it not, — "Would fain filch even from a wretch's lot, 10. " The grandeur of its utter desolation." All glowing with rebuke and shamed vexation The braggart sun's resentful blushes burst, As o'er the deep, whose surface, and no more, His glory gilt, he, slowly sinking, bore This knowledge gain'd : that Misery at her worst Hath one poor grace of tragic interest Proud Pleasure vainly envies at his best. FABLES IN BONG. XXXVI. FORGIVE AND FORGET. 1. "Forgive ! foigel ! In haste I spoke. My speech was rash. Resent it not. Theii wmds unwillM my lips revoke. Stretch out thy hand. Be all forgot." But stunn'd, ami still'd, the listener stood. From stricken 1m -art to sullen brain Rebounding beat the insurgent blood, Then clogg'd the gates of life again. Those rosy roads where tranquil Thought And Feeling cure, like merchant peers, Embracing mix'd the treasures brought From their harmonious hemispheres ; In these, Resentment, outraged Pride, Wrong'd Honour, Wrath, and rebel Doubt Xmv strove, with forces wandering wide, From Reason's stately ranks thrown out. FOEGIVE AND FOEGET. 73 3. '"Forgive? Forget?' 'Tis lightly said," The sullen answer came at last Half-cruslit, as thro' the spikes it sped Of Pride's portcullis — teeth shut fast. " ' Forgive ! forget ! ' And in my place, Say what wouldst thou, the wronger, do 1 ' " I swear it, as I hope for grace, I would forgive, forgetting too ! " And oh that in thy place I were, The wronger thou, and mine the wrong ! Xay, hold me to the oath I swear, And try me if it hold not strong." " Man, words are hasty : even so Thyself hast said." — " Xot hasty this ! ■ trust it ! try it ! ask or do "Whate'er thou wilt."—" Thou will'st it ?"— " Yes." A blow . . . and he that spake the last Beneath the bank where they two stood Was rolling wrapt in foam, and fast Borne onward by the boisterous flood. He beats the blinding wave with strength : Chill'd, shaking, aching, drench'd, to shore 74 FABLES IX BONG. Be struggles: climbs the bank a1 length : And feebly feels alive once more. G. " Forgive ! forget I I struck in haste. My blow was rash. Resent it not. Is wrong forgiven not wrong effaced? Stretch out thy hand. Be all forgot." In wrathful mood he turn'd ahout, Etemember'd — realised — forgave — And, with a rueful smile, held out Bis right hand dripping from the wave. " Nay, overhasty still ! First dry You chilly drench thai drips amain. For who would care 1" embrace (not I !) A slobber'd gutter retching rain?" " Unjust ! " he cried. " Take witness, heaven, Stnnk, sicken'd, soak'd to a sop by thee, The shock, the shame, 1 have forgiven, Nor mine the fault if chill'd I be. 8. " My garments drip, my blood runs cold, My limbs are loosed, my lips are blue, And if 1 live till I grow old, 'Twill be, methinks, no thanks to you. FORGIVE AND FORGET. 75 I heed not how my hurts were got, I only know they hurt me yet ; But all, it seems, suffices not, Half -drown' d, you'd have me still not wet ! " " Tis well ! Thou understands me now. I, too, can strive : I, too, can brave "What Friendship feels from Friendship's blow : Can pluck my soul from out the wave Of overwhelming wrath and shame, Eeach shore, and, shivering there (like thee) Embrace my friend. But not the same As Friendship was can Friendship be. 10. " For lost to love, tho' love may last, Is all that love must needs forgive : And, tho' forgot, the painful past Its prey forgets not. Aiaini'd we live. In memory's haunts a horror grows, That marks one unremember'd spot ; And still the hoary hemlock blows ^Vhere blows the blue forget-me-not." 7(j FABLES IN SONG. XXXVII. THE MOUNTAINS OF TIME. The rest that man runs after lures the "wretch From every place where he at rest may be ; So that his legs are ever on the stretch, Ami not one moment of repose hath he. This frenzy is in certain folks so strong That, when they find the pavement of the city Where they walk up and down the whole day long Not rough enough, however hard and gritty. It is their wont, some once or twice a year, To slip away, as wild as hawk or merlin, From all that city folks hold justly dear In London, Paris, Koine, Vienna, Berlin, And seek out mountain pliers nature made On purpose for uncomfortable walking. To swell the number of these fools, 1 paid A visit to the Alps; which, after stalking Thro' stony vales, I reach'd, and sought repose Fatiguingly a whole flea-bitten night, Outfidgeted in a chill Chalet, close By a green Glacier. There, before the light THE MOUNTAINS OF TIME. 77 I from bed's antisoporific rose, Aud set forth booted on my bootless road ; "Wondering which first would wear the other out. The mountain or the boots that o'er it strode. But both the granite strong and leather stout Eemain'd intact : and tho' to own it loth, "lis I that was worn out between them both. And, when I reach'd the summit where I thought To pluck pure rapture, life's high alpine flower, Faint in the snow I stumbled, and besought My guide to let me sleep away the hour 'Twas settled we must pass there. He replied " As Monsieur pleases : but make haste he must." " I'll sleep, then, in a hurry, friend," I sigh'd. The good man nodded : fish'd a cheese and crust Out of his wallet ; sat down at my side ; And munch'd his breakfast while his watch he kept. Dim round about me wink'd the prospect wide, Down sank my heavy eyelids, and I slept. Or slept not 1 That's the question. Sleep or waking, No change of scene across my vision came. The mountains, which I had erewhile been taking Such stupid pains to mount, with frozen frame Still clasp'd the picture which, of Fancy's making Or Nature's own, was round me, still the same. The only change (for which I can't account) Was that my sense of lassitude was gone, And force was mine to pass from mount to mount, For miles and miles, still upward and still on. 78 FABLES IN BONG. But what Lb certainly just now surprising Is that I fell not then the Least surprise Either at this continual uprising Ami journeying onward, just as the lard Hies, ( )r at the strange means of mine own devising I found within me (how, I can't surmise) Of getting, to my mute interrogation, From all those mountains, marvellous replies. Much this discovery pleased me as a new one. And to a modest mamelary peak Which, tho' an Alp (a genuine and a true one) Yet, being milder-minded, so to speak, • >f aspect than the rest (who seem'd to view one "With countenances anything hut meek) Inspired me with less awe than all his broth* I . I said as much. " Ay," musingly quoth he, ■'The others speak not." — "Friend," said I, "what others ? " "The other mountains," short he answer'd me. " "What other mountains? " "With a touch of mirth Sublime, he laugh'd "The mountains of the earth." '• I 'ray, may I ask, then, of what kind they be, The mountains I've the honour of addressing?" " Certainly. Mountains, not of Spare, are we," He answer'd, "but of Time."--" Of Time?" confessing Imprudently mine ignorance, said I, "This is the first time I have ever heard That Time has mountains. Pray what are they made of? " Aa tho' he thought this question most absurd, THE MOUNTAINS OF TIME. 79 Mine Alp survey'd me sternly, icily ; Then with a slight shrug I felt sore afraid of Half loosed an avalanche, and grumbled " Pooh, man .' Are they not peers and kinsmen, Time and Space ? And pray to Time, the peer of Space, do you, man, Deny his rights, his mountains?" — "Heaven forbid, no ! " I hasten'd to reply. " But, save Your Highness, I know not (heartily I wish I did know !) Nor can I " (here I stammer'd, seized with shyness) " Imagine what they're made of. As for Space, Why, all the earth affords to Space material For mountain-making. But that's not the case With Time, which is "... " What's Time 1 " mock- magisterial Of mien, he interposed in accents quizzical, •'What's Time?" Now, tho' 'tis true I might have quoted A dozen learned authors metaphysical AVho have . . . well, well, not wasted, but devoted A deal of time to the consideration Of what Time is, — yet (as with shame I noted) Ere I -had time to bring out one quotation, Contemptuously looking down on me, My questioner relieved the hesitation His question caused me ; for " Whate'er Time be," He added, answering his own query, " Time, Whose child am I . . . . Tho', if I say I am, Since naked truth's too freezingly sublime I use, for your sake, a mere verbal sham : 80 FABLES IN sum;. For, truth to say, I'm nothing of the kind, And Time La nothing, and there's nothing true. I'.ut that's beyond the limits of your mind, And naturally hounded point of view. Oh, no offence, man ! Certes you'd not lind Such terms offensive, if you only knew The advantage of those bounds ; wherein confined, Man's reason moves with accuracy thro' The crowded tie in nigh fares of sense, that wind In all directions up and down his brain. These bounds are paved oil" pathways which allow The poor foot-passenger, who else were slain, Keeping along the narrow tracks they show, To walk securely, and escape the train Of steeds and chariots that, fast speeding, How And flash all round him, in a roaring tide Certain to crush him if he once broke thro' His pavement barriers upon either side. So, to the point. We here, who people Time, As bodies people Space, — the Hours are we. The Past upheaves us. Some of us, sublime, And others lowly, as no doubt you sec. That's as Time makes us, of what men make him. I'm but the Hour of a small office clerk, "Whose whole life was so quiet, dim, and prim, There's nothing in me to invite remark. The man who made what Time hath made, of me Lived seventy years; full fifty years of which He served the State. "When just about to be Promoted to a post that was the pitch THE MOUNTAINS OF TIME. 81 Of his life's aim (tho' naught to hoast of) he, Poor devil, died an hour too soon. And thus The mouse with which I am parturient Remains within me, evermore, a mus JVondum obortus. His own fault, I grant. But since your time is short, make much of us. Seize the occasion. Ask whate'er you want. Many a point remains yet to discuss. Question the higher Hours." I took the hint ; And, having scarcely time to question Time, Address'd a mount whose purple brows did print The azure air with pines, that strove to climb From cloud to cloud into the golden tint That wrapp'd his summit from the rosy prime. And "I," said he, " am, in a lover's life The longest Hour. For ten impatient years He, with relentless fortune, lived at strife. At length love triumph'd over foes and fears. And in a wood, where she had sworn to meet him, The coming of his mistress did he wait, While every rustling leaf conspired to cheat him, Mocking her steps. She came — an hour too late. And, in that hour, such doubts and such despairs Convulsed his amorous imagination That I became volcanic unawares, And choking with internal conflagration, As you perceive." But I, the truth to say, Perceived not even the slightest indication VOL. II. F B2 FABLES IN BONG. Of fires internal in that mountain grey. Tho', after somewhat closer contemplation, I spied, 'tis true, a bare patch on his pate, Which some Long empty crater might have been ; But I believe 'twas only baldness. Straight I turn'd me towards a giant glacier, green With hideous glooms. "What art thou?" I ex- claim'd. •' I," sigh'd the icy Horror, and his breath Froze the blood in me when his name he named, " Am the Last Hour of one condemn'd to death For having murder'd Life. Look at me close. Throughout the Hour I am, one after one, All the lost moments of that man's life rose Up to the surface of his soul. Heeds done, I >ays undone, wild desires, and wicked wishes, Pure joys defiled, and faded memories fond. One after one they rose up Like dead fishes To the sick surface of a poison'd pond. Ee, in this Hour a hundred times eternal, A child once more, the games of childhood play'd ; Felt on his brow the kiss of lips maternal ; A father's counsels heard and disobey'd ; Far, far away, by flowery paths infernal. From innocence, repose, and virtue stray'd; Felt in his breast love's primal passion burning, The pang of .jealousy's envenom'd dart, The shock of faith betray'd, the bitter turning Oflove to hate, the ravage of the heart, THE MOUNTAINS OF TIME. 83 Despair, debauchery, destruction, crime, Conscience, and memory — the soid's last cry ! Behold me. All the emptiness of Time, And all the wretchedness of Life, am I ! " Smitten with fear, I fled. Xor dared I deem My soul in safety till I 'scaped the sight Of that atrocious solitude. My dream Meanwhile pursued me till I reach'd a height Surpassing all the others. 'Twas so high That I perceived below me, far below, The tallest Alps no bigger to mine eye Than grains of salt. jSTaught breathed between the brow Of this stupendous berg and the bare sky. Oh never yet with such a load of snow Was earth encumber'd ! "Here, at last," said I, " Must be the Chimborazo, nothing less, Of human thought. For surely, surely, he Who raised to such a height the heaviness Of this all-else-surpassing pile must be Earth's master-mind. Time meets eternity, Stretch'd to this altitude." Then loud I cried " Atlas, Atlas ! tell me, who created Thy giant form 1 " Long whde no voice replied, And in the sdence of the waste I waited Wondering, what bard had built this mighty epos : At length, a plaintive, sleepy whisper sigh'd "lam the weariest Hour yet known to fate, Pass'd by a schoolboy, in midsummer tide, 84 FABLES IN' BONG. Comlt'innM, for misdemeanours, to translate A dozen chapters of Cornelius Nepos." Soon as thai voice I beard. I scem'd to see Ami feel myself transform'd — evaporated, Then again frozen — and, at last, to be That mountain in wide azure isolated. Or, ratber, seem'd tbat mountain part of me. For I remember'd tbat my life had dated Just such an hour. My soul became one yawn. My lassitude return'd. Again I stumbled And sank down, just where I had sunk at dawn, As faintly " Alcibiades" I mumbled, " Clinics films, Aihem&nsM^ . . . " Come, wake, sir ! Time's up, and we've miles to make yet." My guide's voice thus recall' d me to my senses. I rose, and rubb'd mine eyes ; and, scarce awake yet, Look'd round — and recognised them every one : The amorous and aged I'on-Juanic Volcano, with his bald head in the sun, Proud of his long-quench'd spritely spurts volcanic; The mamelon in labour with its mouse ; The convict's frozen conscience ; that titanic Alp-upon-alp of taskwork tyrannous \ At whose sight, I sprang forward with a thrill < If anguish, trying vainly to complete Mv chapter of Cornelius Nepos still. The guide, in front, cried " Eh sir, mind your feet ! THE MOUNTAINS OF TIME. 85 Xor look down yonder till we've turn'd the hill. The tug's to come yet." In his winding-sheet The convict glared upon me, grim and chill. " How call you yonder glacier, my good man, eh ? " " Sir," said the guide, " we call it Le Condamne. Mind where you step now." — "Yes," I murmur'd, " yes, Atheniensis Alcibiades" . . . B6 FABLES IX SONG. XX XVIII. CONSERVATION OF FORCE. I. A musician once, in the twilighl tim Musing sal by the instrument Whose keys knew how, with a kindred chime, To interpret to him what his musings meant. Then a picture, the man had seen thai day A i !■ 1 . because of its colour or composition, Had, docp in the soul of him, borne away, Unmiss'd, from its place in the Exhibition, Began to suffer a mystic change, And pass from the soul where its own lay pent ( hi the wings of a melody wild and strange ; Which, as 'twere in a dream, his lingers went Wandering after, over the keys ; Whose notes were thus scatter' d, and then again blent Till the twilight was iill'd with the music of these. CONSERVATION OF FORCE. 2. But when, like a wind from a land unknown, That conies and goes with a will of its own, The strain died out, and left, as it died, The throbbing silence unsatisfied, A friend of the player's who, listening, sat In that twilight chamber beside him, cried With a sigh, " Continue ! " " Continue what 1 I have not been playing," the player replied, " But only thinking — ah, thinking 1 nay, But rather dreaming all thought away About a picture I saw to-day." " Strange ! " said the other ; " and whilst unto thee I was listening, just ere thy music fainted, A poem impress'd itself on me, As clear as a picture freshly painted. Farewell, ere I lose it ! " Then home went he, And wrote the poem to which that strain Had changed itself in the poet's brain. This poem another painter read ; And it haunted that other painter's head, Till of it another picture he made ; "Which, like the first, was exhibited. 88 FABLES IN SONG. 4. When, after many a year was past, Those pictures twain were uphung at last Side l>y side on the self-same wall Of the same museum, they did not fall Into the arms of each other, the one Crying " My father ! " the other " My son ! " Tho' in line direct was their filiation. But, like two athletes, they struggled and fought Against each other without cessation. And men, taking part in the contest, brought Daily, to deepen it, fresh contestation. Critic and craftsman, with praise or blame, Choosing their side in the battle, became, These the passionate partisans Of the style of the earlier master ; those Of tho style of the later ; until two clans Of disciples, two schools of art, arose, Which, in turn, put forth for the world's applause Masterpieces of different kinds ; The unlike effects of a single cause, I >ne force transmitted thro' many minds. For, tho' none of the critics of this was aware, And not even the craftsmen the secret knew, Yet all these pictures the offspring were • M a single picture — the first of the two. HOMEPJDES. 89 XXXIX. HOMEPJDES. Xature hath given the Stag a wondrous gift. Love, and the force that loving hearts doth lift To lofty courage hy the sweet desire Of winning love, have with creative fire Gone to his "burning "brain, and thence hurst out In that "brave crest he proudly bears ahout. Thus, in love's complete "beauty arm'd, he roams The gusty realms of passion, and "becomes A living tempest ; with whate'er in storm Hath "being — motion swift, majestic form, Strife, rapture, peril, and the pomp of power. Then, like the storm which hath its one wild hour And passes, he — his passion once suhdued By surfeit fierce — returns to solitude. A Beetle, burrowing where a Stag had "been, Humm'd " Ha, brave buck ! here hast thou left, I ween, 90 FABLES IX BONG. To me who live upon thy Leavings, fine And tit material for a crown like thine ! For I surmise, since matter's everywhere, That everything Lb matter. Maidens, fair And pure, ['ve seen, who stoopM to plucfc and plan' (( Jharm'd by the beauty of it and the grace) In that sweet haunt of the Hesperides, The guardian of whose hidden apples is Jealous Desire, Borne flow'ret haply fed On the foul scrapings of the cattle-shed : And, if such filth could into heauty hud, Beauty, thou art hut metamorphosed mud ! Eureka ! Here must the Stag's secret lie. Could I hut catch it, doubtless also I Should get the grace to which my soul aspires, And sprout those horns the horn-mad world admires." With which intent, on what he found he fed; Till gradually from his insect head The superfluity of matter there Oozed out in frontal ornaments that were Not all unlike the antlers of a stag. Then, quite contented, he began to brag, •■ A stag am T, and brave mine antlers be ! " 4. And yet he was but a Btag-beetle, he. HOMEEIDES. 91 MORAL. The poet's form is to his followers known. The poet's secret is the poet's own. 'Tis born and buried in the poet's soul : Passion its prelude, solitude its goal. 98 FABLES IN SONG. XL. POINTS DE VUE— POINT DE VUE. A dwellf.r in a city of the plain, Bound on a journey to a mountain land, First pray'd a famous traveller to explain How best he might behold, and understand, The rumour'd wonders of that lofty region, For by report the name of them was legion. 2. " There's but one way," the traveller replied, "Beneath the highest mountain of them all There lies a little town. Get there a guide : Then, rest not till you reach its summit tall. The ascent is difficult. I grant 'tis double — But it is also twice well worth — the trouble. 3. ■ For by this means not only will you be Rewarded with an admirable view, POINTS DE VUE — POINT DE VUE. 93 But 'tis, indeed, the only means to see At one wide eyesweep, adequately true And comprehensive in its contemplation, The whole of that high land's configuration." Struck by the justice of his friend's advice, Which promised an incomparable sight, And full of ardour, on his enterprise The man set forth. He reach'd the inn at night Commended by the traveller ; went to bed, Slept well, waked early, rose, dress'd, breakfasted ; And from the casement of his room could see That mighty mountain clad in cloud and snow. The guide inform'd him that, to mount it, three Good days 'twould take him ; to descend it, two. But he before him had a fortnight's time, Nor need begin in haste that task sublime. 6. So he resolved to make a first essay By visiting the hills and slopes that lower, Lapping the flanks of that high mountain, lay Like housetops huddled round a minster tower ; This promenade was picturesque, and soon Completed in one pleasant afternoon. 94 FABLES IN BONG. "lis true the prospects it unfolded each One corner only of the picture show'd : But all the others lie proposed to reach, One after one, by the same easy road, Encouragingly smooth for a beginner, The following days 'twixt breakfast-time and dinner. 8. " For thus shall I have witness'd all," he said, "In course of time ; and witness'd all without Foregoing for that purpose board or hed, And being thoroughly fatigued no doubt." So said, so done ; and homo again content, Having climb'd all those little hills, he went. Their various points of view had pleased him well • Their slopes were wooded, and their tops wen- green : From each he saw across the neighbouring dell : But saw no further: for each cresl bad been In turn commanded by some other crest, Just high enough to overtop the rest. 10. In silence did his travell'd friend receive The tale of those short journeys ; and replied POINTS DE VUE— POINT DE VUE. 95 " The charm of your excursion, I perceive, Lay in those little slopes that, every side, Shut out the distance ; hills clirnb'd yesterday Bounding to-morrow's prospect all the way. 11. " With not more trouble, and in shorter time, You, following my counsel, would have seen The whole horizon's airy orb sublime Reveal'd beyond each decorated screen Of those low mountains. For that summit tall Of which I told you doth surmount them all. 12. ''I, in man's thought, as 'twere a bird behold, Born to disport itself in space, with Aving Unfetter'd by the wires, tho' they be gold, Of any cage. Albeit I grant birds sing In cages. But that, doubtless, is a merit They from the freeborn songsters do inherit. 13. " And better, to my thinking, one high note Dropt by the soaring skylark from the sky Than all that's warbled from a cageling's throat. Minds are there, too, whose natural home is high ; One word they drop in passing is worth more Than tutor'd twitterers twitter by the score." 9G FABLES IN SONG. XL I. PYRRHONISM, OR, THE HAUNTED HEN. A hen, whom the bounty of Providence made A parent prolific, with motherly pride Every day a fresh egg in the henroost laid, Which to hatch into life she then patiently tried. But, whilst on these eggs she was brooding warm In a placid glow of parental pleasure, ( 'hill was the change as she spied with alarm A Weasel, who watch'd her, aware of her treasure. And this Hen henceforth was so haunted by The chilly charm of that Weasel's eye, That, night by night, in her dreaming deep It was ever the self-same dream she dream'd ; How, changed to a Weasel, she crept in the deep Of the dark to the henroost; and, stealthily seem'd With the craft of a Weasel to suck and destroy Those eggs that, by day, were tho poor fowl's joy. PYRRHONISM; OR, THE HAUNTED HEN. 97 This double identity, made up of two — Her waking and sleeping self— at last The Hen's life into confusion threw, And over it, daily and nightly, cast The spell of a twofold trouble. By day She lived in such dread of her midnight dream That at length not an egg was she able to lay : Yet this daily sterility did not redeem From its nightly plague her spirit tormented, When she, by the dream's transforming power, Changed into a Weasel, was discontented At finding no more any eggs to devour. 3. " Ah, had I," she sigh'd, " but the gift to forget, I might hope to recapture lost happiness yet ! Then, by day, with a spirit unvext should I Taste the soothing sweets of maternity, Whilst the ravisher's raptures of cruel delight Would be mine, with young victims to ruin, by night. But alas ! as it is, I can neither enjoy The rude libertine's lust, nor the love of the mother ; Who, combining two selves that each other destroy, Fail to realise either the one or the other ! " VOL. II. 93 FABLES IN SONG. MORAL. So arc we : who, both author and critic in one, Miss the comfort accorded to either alone. By alternate creative and critical powers Is our suffering identity sunder' d and torn : And the tooth of the critic that's in us devours Half the author's conceptions before they are born. THE MOUNTAIN AND THE MARSH. 99 XLII. THE MOUNTAIN AND THE MARSH. A REVERIE. 1. Low natures cannot even forgive the good Another's greatness on their fate entails. 'Twixt sea and land a granite Mountain stood, No further than a wounded bittern trails His broken wing, beyond a Swampy Flood Foul with green ooze. The inland-blowing gales That died upon his summit did bequeath A quiet climate to the land beneath. 2. The gracious image of this Mountain slept Unruffled in the dark of that dull Meer ; Where rarely even a lazy ripple crept To bid the bulrush shake his languid spear LOO FABLES IN BONG. O'er livid streaks of stagnant scum, that kept Tin.- calm contour, -with every outline clear, Ami all the colours of the portraiture, Tho' painted on a filthy surface, pure. But daily ever, when the sun was low, And, in a rosy reflex aureole, The guardian Mount's grey head began to glow, From out his marble-breasted body stole, And sidled, lingering to the lowland slow, What seem'd the Mountain's disembodied soul A stealthy, shy, and solitary elf, The insubstantial semblance of himself. 4. Over the fens it fared, where dreamy rows Of cattle farmward moved their wandering camp ; But scarce had reach'd the rivage, ere there rose Resentful challenge from that churlish Swamp ; II "arse as the choral croak that overflows In gleaming eves of Spring the shallows damp, And reedy brinks, of their spawn-mantled bogs, From many thousand throats of querulous frogs : " Halt, vagabond ! halt where thou art ! Nor insult with thy presence alihorr'J The tloor of my palace. Depart, Billy slave of an insolent lord ! THE MOUNTAIN AND THE MAESH. 101 " And thou, broad braggart, I pray Invade not my virginal bed. Let tbe earth to thy foot give way, And the heaven to thy horrible head : " Parade thine imperial mantle, Which this lackey behind thee doth bear, Till it leaves not uncover'd a cantle Of the subject world— elsewhere : " But sully not with it my fountain ! Queen am I in my realm : and thine, Tho' it prison the sun, proud mountain, I allow not alliance with mine." 5. The gracious Mount, aware of his wrong'd worth, Made generous answer in grave tones and sweet ; Around him gazing, east, west, south, and north, With kingly cairn that claim'd attention meet ; While that sick shrew spat her foul spittle forth And in her own filth wallow'd at his feet. His voice was as the sighing of a hreeze Born on the bosom of the boundless seas : " Friend, leave to the human race The inhuman habit of war ! To each in the world his place, And we are whatever we are. To each his good and his ill : And the ill of the good made mine Is that, doom'd to forever be still, I must ever for motion pine. The bees and the butterflies Hover over the blossom bells ; And the birds in the balmy skies, 102 FABLES IN BONG. And the feathery-eail'd b< i d-cells, They wander about ; and I, As 1 watch them, w ish that I w< A bee, or a butterfly, Or a little bird of the air ' Bnt to eai li in the world his place, And i" e\ ery ill Bome g>od. Unto me my granite base, And to thee thy ahelter'd flood. Yet 0, how the spiril in me la troubled when bound, alas, To this granite base, I see (As the pure winds over me ] The leaflel leap on the tree, And the ll"v> Hi uod in the grass, And the long grass wave on the lea, And the reed in the wan moi And thou, too? Dost thou not feel (When the Bedge to the low wind sighs) Sweet tremors over thee steal, And a rapture of ripples arise ? Say, wouldst thou not follow the wind In a wave of wonder away, Were thy waters unconfined By their osier cradle grey ' The hungry ocean, bidden By me from the heedless land ; Which it leaps to devour, and, chidden, Falls back at my mute command : Fares it better than thou who, rockt By low-breathing winds, and fann'd To sleep, liest safely lockt In the lmllow of earth's huge hand .' No ! it sutlers the same effect, Only all on a vaster scale. And if thy small fleets unwreckl Are but blown by a baby gale, (1 lead leaflets gaily apeckt, With a spider's web for a sail) Whilst yonder (a Boating fort) The battle-ship huge, that mocks THE MOUNTAIN AND THE MARSH. 103 The enemy's bellowing port, Sinks shatter'd on surfy rocks. Who shelters thee, thankless Queen, Secure in thy small domain ? I, the friend of whose shade serene Thy churlish lips complain ! I, the giant who stand between Thy rest and the roaring main ! " The brave old Mount, by wounding weathers scarr'd, O'er the low-sunken, safely-shelter'd lea, Which his grey head from howling gusts did guard, And o'er the rolling ridges of the sea, Sent far his grave, calm, satisfied regard ; Then glanced athwart that gloomy Swamp, but she Sigh'd only, sullen, from her sedgy beach, As, smiling, he resumed, in mountain-speech : " rapturous, wandering wings, O rivulets, running for ever, winds, clouds, waves, happy things ! I, that never may follow you, never Taste with you a traveller's bliss, As ye roam over moorland and meadow, I, at least (and who grudges me this ?) Send forth on his travels my Shadow. 'Tis a gentle and timorous sprite, That never, except when night Is falling, ventures far ; And, albeit inquisitive, most Discreet ; not given to boast, As other travellers are ; Pure, tho' it sleep in the slime ; Shy as a young bird thrown Unfledged from its nest sublime ; Yet with secret joys of its own ; 104 FABLES IN BONO. And by only two at a time Is its intimate sweetness known. Bui of any two Lovers, I pray, B( Li lak'd if they love not the shade : And the happ] ones, boy and maid, Will blush as they turn away Sighing and Bmiling, afraid Its secret bliss to betray; Whilst the others, whose hearts be cleft For the grave of a lost love, laid Dead in its birthplace,— 'reft Of the hopes that with shadows have play'd, Will sigh 'Our sole happiness left Is to wander and weep in the shade. 1 Why is it ? They know not why. 'Tis an antique mystery. This nursling of Night's lone heart Hath known sorrow, and learn'd to be still But it cherishcth, pure and apart, In its own chaste silence chill, A memory, mighty, immense Of passionate love and pain ; A memory mixt with a sense Of deep desire and disdain ; A memory made intense By a love that was loved in vain ! " 7. Here, soughing in the sedge, the Water made A restless moan of weary resignation ; As who should say ' I heed not what is said. Altho' I hear it.' And a dull pulsation Daiken'd the melancholy monnhram laid To listless rest along the late stagnation Of the now rippled liquid in her lone Low reedy creeks. The musing Mount went on THE MOUNTAIN AXD THE MARSH. 105 " Ere Love was acquainted with Sorrow, Ere Eve was a wife or a mother, Ere the even was 'ware of the morrow, Or yet either had banisht the other, In Eden the Night and the Morn "Were dissever'd as soon as born. The Fiat Lux thunders thro' heaven ! And, awakening Creation, hath riven The resonant portals of Light. All gushing with glorious surprises The Sun, in his royalty, rises, And bursts on the realm of the Night. He comes ! and the Silence profound, That hath watch'd with droopt wings spread afar Over Night's maiden dreams, at the sound Of the steps of the conquering star, Is smitten and scatter'd in flight. And he comes : lifts the veil from her breast, And sees naked the beautiful Night. Venit, vidit .... who knows not the rest ? what an awakening was there ! "What rapture ! and what despair ! One moment hath ruin'd forever Love and power. Alas, he, and she ? Light and Darkness ? Impossible ! Never, never, such union can be ! Such, of old, was the destiny vain Of that incompatible twain : And such is the endless condition Of Passion, the child of disdain And desire, — life and death in transition ! Hope snatcht from the breast of despair Is hers, and a life that is death ; For she breathes in the deadliest air, And she dies of but one quiet breath. Her food is the fruit that's forbidden : Her pleasure a prayer never granted : Her strength is a wish that is chidden : And her weakness the thing that she wanted I" 106 FABLES IX SO. 8. High winds, that vex'd aol the still earth, began To Bmite the upmosl heaven. With fitful light The stricken moon thro' ileccy cloudlets ran. The Mountain, from that drift of dark and brighl Which o'er him glimpsed in alternation wan, Caught mystic motion ; and, in spectral flight Hovering above the melancholy plain, The spirit that was in him spake again : " And the Sun, never-resting, forsaken, Ami fierce in his anguish of light, Cries thro' heaven ' Where art thou ? awaken, And return to me, fugitive Night ! ' But she, whose unsatisfied lover Thus renews his importunate flame, Where hides she I with what does she cover Her beauty, her babe, ami her shame? Ask yon quivering Bplendours, thai swim The blue dark in bright shoals overspread, If they know in what solitude dim Nighl is hiding her desolate head : And those liveried lackeys of Light (In the cause of Light's glory enlisted) Will answer ' What is it. the Nighl ' 'Tis a myth that has never existed !' Ask the planet whose golden urn Flows over with flaming amber As he, courtier-like, taketh his turn In the sun's brighl antechamber : He laugheth ' The Sun is my king : The fallen are soon forgot : I follow the conquering : And the Night? ... I know her not' And the sliding meteor will As he falls in a fiery drop, THE MOUNTAIN AND THE MARSH. 107 1 "Who cares 1 I have miss'd my way, And can neither retrace it nor stop.' And, blushing, the Dawn will sigh ' I awaked ere my dreams were done. They were fair ; but I know not, I, If I dream'd of the Night ... or the Sun ? ' And, if all things else deny her, Renounce the Night or ignore, Go, ask of the ghostly fire That hovers on that pale shore, Where, embark' d in its phantom comet, The wandering embryon waits God's finger to fashion from it A world of yet unknown fates : It will mutter ' I mark'd her creeping, By the light of a latent moon, Between two worlds and weeping, Like a beggar that asks a boon At the gates of a rich man's place, "With a shamed and sorrowful mien : And I think it was to embrace Her sleeping babe unseen.' ' ' That babe, is it Bliss 1 But aloud Breathe the name of it never ! At best 'Tis a treasure that, risk'd if avow'd, Is in fear and in peril possest : Whose possessor, as one that encroacheth Upon ground that's forbidden, by night, All atremble his treasure approacheth But to bury it deep out of sight. And, thou to whom never before Hath been utter'd this antique story, Insult not the shade (tho' no more Than a shadow it be) of lost glory. For what it must be at the last The Present doth ill to scorn. And the Present shall be the Past Ere the Future it boasts be born. " 108 FABLES IX SONG. 9. Never before thai venerable Mbunl II id Bpoken at such length : nor ever met A listener in whose ear he could recount Without ungracious interruption, yet, The fancies vague that, like a vented fount Whose struggling waters sudden outlet get, UpweU'd within him, and pour'd wide and free His secret thoughts in wandering reverie. 10. I '.nl all ! the old story-teller's pride received A sharp rehuff — not loud, but, certes, deep ! When, pausing for an answer, he perceived The Water had been all this while asleep. Sleep thou, too, good old Mount! with hearl ungrieved, Tho* heedless ears thy long discourse hold cheap. Sleep, and good dreams be thine ! There are sins worse Than too much talk in unregarded verse. 11. And, if men miss the moral of thy strain, Tell them 'tis in themselves, and tell them why. Wherever croaking commonwealths complain Of their old mountain bulwarks and deny Even the shadow of greatness, where in vain Is heard the voice of hoar Authority, There, lost among the morals of the time, May haply lurk the moral of thy rhyme. TELEOLOGY. 109 XLIII. TELEOLOGY. 1. The casement of a chamber in an inn O'erlook'd a courtyard full of weeds and stones. And on the stones and weeds that deck'd therein A haunt of blue-flies, heap'd with offal, bones, Ordures, and broken pots, and rusty tin, (Which 'neath this casement made a goodly show) Out of the lattice from the room within, A traveller whom it lodged was wont to throw The soap-suds daily scraped from cheek and chin, His razor's refuse, mixt with frothy flow Of basin-rinsings warm ; nor cared a pin Whose pate might catch such casual chrism. Below Upon a dunghill, thirsty, parcht, and thin, A miserable nettle chanced to grow. This wretched weed, which else had died of drought, In the chance rescue of that daily rain 110 1 AHLES IX SOXO. Its own advantage found ; and, free froni doubt, Perceiving in it adaptation plain < If means to a beneficenl design, Exclaim'd " Urticarian Jupiter, What wisdom is there in thy will divine ! Who dost on all thy universe confer Convincing proofs of providence benign. I»y wliat supreme administrative feat Hast thou contrived for me, thy grateful child, Recurrence of this tepid torrent sweet ! Which every morning with its moisture mild Revives my strength, and heals all hurtful heat Whilst, regularly rising day by day, Thy gracious sun rules all the rolling year, Warms the -wide world with his benignant ray, And in their season bids my buds appear. How admirably organised is all This wondrous world ! whose aspect everywhere Reveals to reverent thought, in great and small, Contrivance order'd with consummate care Its maker's purpose to fulfil : which is TllK HAPPINESS OF NETTLES. Mighty Jove, On me thy mercies have not fallen amiss. Thy purpose I divine : and, proud to prove My part therein, each seed of mine that settles Shall do its best to till the world with nettles." Thus, in good faith, the thriving weed adored The patronage of providence ; and, wedding, TELEOLOGY. Ill The graceful action to the grateful word, Began to cover with a verdant spreading Of stinging stuff the filth it chanced to find A root in (how it knew not, neither why) 'Mid shards, and scurf, and scum of every kind ; Convinced it was promoting worthily The strenuous effort of almighty Jove A virgin nettle forest to create. 4. Meanwhile, the traveller in the room ahove Had finish'd the affair for which of late He had been lingering in that inn. The man Was (as the Fabulist forgot to state "When he this Fable in hot haste began) A manufacturer in search of coal To feed his forges at the cheapest rate. And, having visited at last the whole Coal-bearing region, rummaged it about, And made his choice, now, wishing to get rid Of the rejected samples, he threw out (To join the other refuse that unchid Sprawl'd in the heat upon that heap of dung) The residue of his unclean collection. 5. By woeful luck there chanced to fall among That grimy clan, in their abrupt ejection, 112 FABLES IN SONG. A heavy lump of carboniferous schist, Which flat upon the flowering nettle flopp'dj Whose crusht philosophy, collapsing, miss'd Benignant purpose in the blow that stopp'd Philosophising with a pang of pain. " Fatality, ami malediction !" hiss'd The mangled weed with indignation vain, "What Demon rules this universe, and slays Without a purpose, making earth one hell 1 Blind Chance it is ! and since blind Chance obeys No guiding law, methinks it might as well 1 lave fall'n on either side of me, instead Of tumbling thus precisely on my head ! " Uttering this blasphemy the nettle died. But not before his gaze, fast growing dim, Had contemplated with a mournful pride The tumulary pile that cover'd him. For there he mark'd the impress of a plant Of perisht centuries. That antique print Of vegetable forms no more extant lie took for epitaph, admiring in 't The grandeur of his race in days gone by, And " semper cire/i* .'" was his life's last sigh. TELEOLOGY. 113 MORAL. Self-Interest, whiles it prospers, aye believes Its profit the chief aim of Providence. And even death's sigil on the tomb deceives Its vanity with plausible pretence Of pride in nothingness, abasht no whit To join Hie Jacet to Hie incipit. vol. II. H 114 FABLES IN SONG. XLIV. COGITO EEGO SUM. 1. " Whatsoever the names -whereby men call thin--. I ponder, compare, and discriminate all things." Whose speech 1 A philosopher's, say you, this 1 If so, then your error is great as his. 'Twas a Grocer's Balance that spoke that speech: I I is beam was rusty, his brass scales each l'.umpt and bent ; yet as proud he hung ( )ver the cheating counter, slung From a bar screw'd fast to a greasy shelf, As if Themis had hung him aloft herself. For, having weigh'd nil things (butter-pats, Snuff, cloves, coffee, and salted sprats), And determined their gravity, great or small, Be believed that he understood them all. COGITO EKGO SUM. 115 2. " Now, man," he resumed, with himself agreeing, " Is an incomplete and impulsive being, Who, judging of things as they seem to be, Would misjudge them all, were it not for me. But his a priori I soon put straight By the solid and readjusting weight Of my a posteriori test. If at first I feel for a while opprest By the force of the problem thought presents To my brain-pan loaded with arguments, Mine impulse anon is to soar above it, Contemplate, cogitate, calculate, prove it. For my reason ever inclines in me My will, which is for that reason free, To the truth, where I rest and am satisfied, Between the extremes upon either side. There the goal is gain'd, and why further go 1 Since I know that I think, what I think I must know, And thus perfect, at last, to the point I come With my formula cogito ergo sum." Those Weights which the Balance was pleased to call His arguments, being false weights all, Knew full well, and with secret glee, Mock'd at the trick of the whole machine, IIV PABLES IN BONG. •• For if Justice had only eyes to That rogue the Grocer had long since been Hang'd by the neck as he ought to be," (These False Weights Bneer'd with a surly spleen) •• Ami thou shouldst have served for bis gallows tree. Thou dost think, and so art 1 ? State tbe truth as it is, Tbou dost fancy thou tbinkest, and tbinkest thou art. Be it so ! It costs nothing to think that or this, And let each have his fancy. We, too, for our part, Have a notion 'tis worth not two penn'orth of twine, What thou art or thou tbinkest. But spare us, we pray, That absurd ergotistical Ergo of thine, Which to others must sound disobliging if they Chance to be without thinking. For instance, to man, Who would surely not bo what he is if he thought, And is right ; for the main thing's to be, if one can, And to think about being is nutshell and naught. As for thee, if thou canst, thou canst do nothing better Than beget little scales, and take care that they be Each, if possible, just like its precious begetter, For the world's tongue is scandalous. So much for thee ! For thine Ergo ; not eogito, say, ergo sum, But to eogito rather subjoin ergo est, And, at least somewhat nearer the truth wilt thou come ; To thy formula standing, but standing confest Sole creator of that idiotic creation Whose silly existence exists at the best COGITO ERGO SUM. 117 In the depths of thine own idiotic sensation. And then as for thy will ; it oheys the behest Of the motive that's strongest, a slave and a thrall To the force we all feel and yet none of us know. For the rickety tile that is ready to fall From the top of the roof if the wind blows high And be smasht to bits in the street below, First smashing the skidl of some passer-by, Hath a will that's as free every whit as thine own, And the sense not, at least, to talk nonsense about it, Down it falls when it must, and it lies where 'tis thrown, By an impulse received from a pressure without it. That pressure's Necessity. What she pronounces Finds thee, too, like others, obedient enough. "What is coffee 1 a pound of it weighs sixteen ounces, And so much, and no more, does a pound weigh of snuff. This alone, at the most, canst thou know after weigh- ing it, And 'tis but the residt of thou knowest not what. If thou sayest it, 'tis that thou canst not help saying it, And thou never wilt say a thing truer than that." Now a metal is iron as hard as nails, Practical, patient, not easily bored : But ideas it hates, and against them prevails, As we often have seen, at the point of the sword. 118 FABLES IN BONG. Whilst the Balance uphung 'twixt the earth and the Bky, And by nature responsive to every vibration, Eovera vague In a realm insubstantial and high Which seems made for the purpose of pure specu- lation. So that when "sixteen ounces of snuff are a pound- weight," The Weights cried below to the Balance above, Tho' he knew not, as we do, that this was unsound weight, Ee replied, with a shrug, " Well, and what does that prove 1 " Then, convinced that he had by this interrogation Their materialist insolence sternly put down, He return'd with a tremor of self-admiration To the point out of which the discussion had grown. And so matters went on, until brought to a stop By a quite unforeseen and unpleasant event : "When one day on the Grocer's iniquitous shop The Police made an inquisitorial descent ; Which established the fact that each weight was a light one, That the Balance had In it a tendency strong To incline to the side that was never the right one, And the Grocer had known of the trick all along. COGITO ERGO SUM. 119 The Grocer was fined. The Police took possession Of the Balance and Weights. These the Law handed over To the anvil and hammer, that made an impression Upon them from which they will never recover. 6. In one sack of old iron regardlessly shaken Do Free Will and Necessity rnst evermore. To a different system the Grocer has taken, And he cheats more ingeniously now than before. 120 FABLES IN SONG. XLV. PHILOSOPHY OF THE LITTLE. Two cousins (tliey were "but of distant degree, But blood's thicker than water, and each was a Flea) Met each other by chance. Bid not History tell (For the goings of Fleas are inscrutable) Whereabouts it was in their nightly walk The dark kinsmen, meeting, fell into a talk In the usual over-emphatic style Of friends who, when after a long, long while They meet unawares, in that unwill'd meeting Evince, by a nervously-cordial greeting, Keener care for each other's affairs Than they honestly feel. For if one of them wears A threadbare coat, though as warm perhaps As the weather in June be the breast it wraps, At the sight of it something shuts somewhere In the heart, like a door in a draught of air. Now one of these two was a fine fat Flea : To the other, a lean one, " Coz," quoth he, In a tone of compassionate semi-suspicion " You seem to be terribly out of condition." PHILOSOPHY OF THE LITTLE. 121 "Alas ! " said the lean one, " friend, in me, The ruin'd though innocent victim you see Of one fatal error beyond recall. My means of life I invested all In the skin of an Ape. It was juicy and fat. I married in haste on the strength of that, Had a numerous family, daughters, sons, Nor was Flea ever father of fairer ones. Now wife and little ones, all are lost ! Ah ! had I hut counted the care and cost, Or had I hut dream'd of the danger and toil, When I settled first on that fertile soil ! I confess my fault. I was taken in. Who could guess that an Ape has so ticklish a skin 1 The brute was prurient, and idle too, With nothing better all day to do Than scratch, scratch, scratch ; you conceive the despair Of a flea whose whole livelihood bangs by a hair. But enough of the miseries I have gone thro'. My illustrious friend how much better with you, Has the world, since we parted, been wagging !" " So, so!" Complacently nodded the other. " I know Nothing much, on the whole, I can grumble about, Save a plaguy sharp twinge now and then of the gout. 'Tis the fruit of good fare and the life that I lead Which is pleasant enough." "So it must be, indeed !" The lean Flea said with a hungry sigh. " But where are you living 1 " " Luxuriously \-21 FABLES IN SONG. With my friend the Lion." "The Lion? alack ! " The starveling stammered as he Bkipp'd back, " I lav, then, his terrible claws and teeth Their use forgone? How! dwelling heneath Those dread conditions, hast thou possest A single moment of ease or rest ? " Scornfully smiled the superior Flea. • What are his claws or his teeth to me ? Leonine talons may tear wild bulls, They cannot fidget a flea. Fear dulls, foolish cousin, thy feeble wit. Apes scratch themselves at each itching fit, And in public pick out their private fleas, Not resenting disgust if they get but ease. Thine own insignificance prudently trust. A lion bears nobly what nobleness must. Of a friend's experience this maxim learn, And I'll warrant you, Cousin, 'twill serve your turn From a world of foes woiddst thou lice exempt ? 'Hun shelter thyself in the world's contempt. 'Tis a fortune si/J^criJicd l>y all creatures for thee. Go, trade on it! safe — if thou art tmt ajlca." MASTEE AT HOME. 123 XLVI. MASTEE AT HOME. PART 1. In grateful memory of each gracious reference Made to them by the one and thousand stories Of Queen Scheherazade, — or duteous deference To him in whom its immemorial glories Their realm attain'd, — the Beasts decreed thy name Haroun Alraschid, to the bravest, best, And noblest of their kings — a king whose fame His title merited, as mightiest Of monarchs leonine. Nor e'er hath been That ancient realm so fair and flourishing At any time before or since, I ween, As when Haroun the Illustrious was King. That Royal lion, like his namesake, loved To roam, incognito, his realms by night, And if — at morn, what time it heedless roved, Some subject's stumbling footstep chanced to 'light 124 FABLES IX SOXG. Upon a heap of bmi<'s, or hloody fleece, Where, in the dark, the King of Beasts had been, Or if, upon tin- harks of drooping trees Some Beaver's tooth, calumnious])- keen, Had scored a scandalous chronicle, — what then? Who is exempt from scandal 1 Not the great. Are not the mighty paths of mighty men Strewn with such ugly traces of the fate Of little ones 1 And what's a sheep or two Lost in a lion's glory and renown 1 To his high name and famous title true, Fear'd and revered was the great Lion Haroun. But was he happy ? Whosoe'er had seen The grace, the beauty, and the loveliness Of the young Lioness, Haroun's fair Queen, Could surely doubt not of the monarch's bliss : Limbs whose luxurious and majestic mould Seem'd by some mighty artist's magic hand Shaped into gliding form from flexile gold; And, what most Avon the heart of all the land, Oh, such a nameless charm of grace refund, In every movement, queenly feminine, Of the soft tail that, curving, swept behind, And scarcely stirr'd a single sandgrain fine With its light fringe, yet gave to all the rest Expression irresistibly enchanting \ A charm by high-born dames alone possest. In short, no beauty to the queen was wanting. All female charms were hers : and she was his : But ah .' the heart that every joy possesses MASTER AT HOME. 125 Except one joy, if that one joy it miss, All joy in all it hath too often misses ! Oft o'er the king's majestic "brow would rise The wrinkling shadow of a secret care ; Oft o'er the orbits of his fervid eyes The massive muscle swell'd as though it were Stung by a sudden inward irritation ; Whilst restless swishings of the royal tail Gave momentary tokens of vexation ; Which his proud soul allow'd not to prevail, But, with impatient toss of the large mane, Shook scornful off : then, with a yawn immense, Half of submission, half of deep disdain, Mixt with a supercilious somnolence, The wide jaws gaped, and he, as one resign'd To those small troubles which infest the great, Stretch'd slow his lordly limbs. The Court divined The Monarch's mood : anxieties of State ! Oft, at the dead of night the antler'd Hart, Couch'd in the grass beside his spotted Doe, From restless dreams would tremulously start And, heedless, strike his ornamented brow All scared against the elm-tree's neighbouring bark ; When from the far-off, deep-porch'd palace, borne Along the listening silence of the dark, Fierce cries of royal wrath and passionate scorn, And then the roaring fall, and heavy roll Of mighty ones with mighty ones contending Startled the poor stag's palpitating soul ; His straddled slender legs beneath him bending. 126 FABLES IN BONG. His spouse, too, hearing what he heard, half n Scared for a momenl by that ominous sound : But, when her glance fell on the honed brows Of her good helpmate conjugally crown'd, She, with a slight boss of her dainty head, (Significant of pacified alarm) Settled again to sleep in her soft hed Safe hid among the forest herhage warm. And when, next morn, the Monarch sat in Hall, 1 1 is mien was sombre and his mood irate, Matted and torn Ins mane, and swollen all His mighty limbs. Anxieties of State- ! tart n. The lordly Lion llaroun one day Iu'iicath a shady wood, A solitary lounger lay In meditative mood. From public cares retired, Bui not from care releast, Of life, ami all things, tired, The noble-minded beast Oft sadly sighM. the while he eyed The summer grass and (lowers ; And, sighing, heard each happy bird That piped from pleasant bowers To gratulate its brooding mate ( )n June's unclouded hours. MASTEK AT HOME. 127 Then forth there came, from out of a vine That round an elm did range Her garlands green and gloloes of wine, A little creature strange. It was of the Monarch's million Loyal subjects, doubtless, one. But never before that minute Had the Monarch noticed the little creature ; Uncouth of form, minute of feature, And yet, with something in it That seem'd to strike and harmonise "With the cause of the Monarch's moody sighs ; And the Lion's eye-glance tarried On the pinnacled house, with its painted face, Which, at a slow and a solemn pace, The Snail on his shoulders carried. Doubtless that tiny householder Guess'd not what kingly eye Did on his movements then confer Its royal scrutiny. For on, with smooth important motion, He paced, as though he had a notion That he was lord of all the way. His house upon his back he bore, And on his forehead standards four : Erect and proud were they. 128 1 ABLES IN SONG. To him (thus travelling leisurely, Unconscious of the Lion's eye) Across tlie path made- haste. Another, smaller, wayfarer, Swifter-footed, swarthier, And slim about the waist. Then these two mutes, perceiving each The other, in their native speech Did one another hail, And with familiar salutation Fell into close confabulation, The Emmet and the Snail. Haroun, the Lion, understood (As all good sovereigns do, or should) The dialects and languages Of his provincial subjects fully. And, glad to escape the weary stress Of thoughts morose and melancholy Which did just then his mind oppress, He hail'd with silent satisfaction The chance of finding some distraction In listening to the chatterings Of such small folk, on such small things As cabbage-leaves and pips of pine, And weather-changes, foul or fine ; In short each ordinary matter Of such folk's ordinary chatter. MASTER AT HOME. 129 PART III. The little Emmet shook his head : " Caracol ! Caracol ! * T would not be the King," he said, " In such had times." (With prescient soul Haroun the Lion prick'd an ear.) " Why, neighbour, why 1 " said Caracol. " Ah, Caracol ! ah, gossip dear," The little Emmet still ran on, " You stay-at-home, you'll live and die, Not dreaming what great things are done In the great world. But, gossip, I Go gadding here and there, you know, And many a thing upon the sly I pick up that's worth knowing." " How ! " Quoth Caracol, " good gossip say, (I am, indeed, a perfect stranger To what you hint at,) tell me, pray, Is, then, the Empire now in danger 1 From what ? Explain, friend, if you know, Domestic brawl, or foreign foe 1 A puissant King have we ! " " No, Caracol — I'll tell you — no, From civic brawl, and foreign foe, The Empire still is free. But, ah ! dear gossip, if you knew, You never said a thing less true — o * The Spanish for snail is here used as a proper name. VOL. II. 1 130 FABLES IN SONG. The King's not puissant." — "He ! What mean you, friend?" said Caracol. (Haroun suppress'd a scornful growl.) "I mean — upon my life, Tis true," the Kmini't said, "the King Can rule his states — rule everything, But his unruly wife. The King's not master of the Queen, She masters him. And, this I mean, That, master'd by his spouse, At home he is not puissant — nay, Not even — the plain truth to say — ■ At home in his own house. I know a secret gallery All thro' the palace ('tis thereby I pick up odds and ends.) Ah, if you knew whal goings on ! "What shocking, shocking things are done, What hosts of private friends The Queen receives upon the sly ! Poor King ! I'm sure I pity him." Said Caracol, "And bo do I!" The Snail's small optic nerve was dim With sympathetic moisture. ""Why," Sigh'd Caracol, " what's after all, Such greatness worth I" The Emmet small Resumed, " Without n huff We rule, friend, you and I, our spouses, Nor fear to enter our own houses. Abroad, the King, indeed, looks greal : MASTEll AT HOME. ]31 All envy him his power and state. At liome, he's small enough ! " Caracol ! my Caracol ! I would not, trust me, for the whole Broad realm that he calls his, Be that unhappy King." " Nor I ! " Said Caracol with glistening eye, " My house my castle is. And, gossip, you and I can say ("What, ah ! he cannot) day hy day, Tho' not in palace dome, On purple couch, but humble bed, Each lays his undishonour'd head, ' Master am I at home ! ' " PART IV. Soaring with wrath and outraged pride, Haroun, the lordly Lion, sprung. The little Emmet slipp'd aside, And hid himself the grass among. The Snail, who could not go so quick, Pull'd his four timorous standards down, Swallow'd himself, and (terror-sick) Was to a mere saliva grown. The royal Lion, in its base distress, The wretched creature saw, 132 FABLES IN BONG, He could have crusht it into nothingness, With one stroke of his paw. In a cold sweat lay Caracul. Xo doubt, .Master at home was lie Hut master p/his home, lie now found out, 'Twas harder far to he. Kowbeit, happily for Caracol, Haroun the Lion, with a lion's whim, Or else a monarch's scornful self-control, Pass'd onward, musing, and so harm'd not him. " A worm," the Lion mused, " an abject clot Of animated slime, that creeps infirm, Is lord in his own house... and I am not ? Well... he it so ! The worm is still a worm. I am a king. Bah !... burrow and crawl... become One with this earth's obscurest denizens, To be... as they are... each in his own home Master... of what? mere subterranean dens, I »r flimsy tenements... where they abide, This — a sick jelly without even a spine, That — a grimed drudge 1 " And the great Lion sigh'd Sadly..." Leontine ! Leontine ! " THE PLANE AND THE PENKNIFE. 133 XLVII. THE PLANE AND THE PENKNIFE. A little Penknife, with sore toil and pain, In unskill'd hands, was desperately trying To smooth a great rough plank against the grain. " Cease, little fool ! " that frustrate labour spying, A Plane exclaim'd " I'll show thee how to do it ! " And gallopading up and down, he raced Nimbly along the plank, as tho' he knew it And found the rough work pleasant to his taste. Like curdling foam, small shavings here and there Bubbled ; and where the swift Plane flitted o'er The hard wood, waxing bald, its shaven hair In yellow ringlets floated to the floor ; Leaving reveal'd, in delicate design, The section'd surface of each wavy vein And rosin-colour'd ring with fringes fine. Then, proudly pausing, " There now ! " cried the Plane. I'M FABLES IX SONG. •■ Bow shall I ever thank thee, friend, enough?" The Penknife, much admiring, made reply, Ami from his tender blade some notches rough He wiped, like teardrops from a grateful eye. •• Thou shall not thank me, little fool, at all ; But 'In thy proper work as I do mine." The Plane in accents magisterial Said to the Penknife. " Carve thou figures fine •• In lucid maple ; or, at most essay Thy tender tooth on the ambitious hox, That deems himself as brave, in his own way, As elephantine ivory. On blocks " Of his unfeatured flesh do thou engrave Rare pictures delicate with dainty lines. To beautify some poet's gentle page, Or solace Science with mysterious signs : " < )i round about some richly-foliaged frame Wreath, rope, and cherub, sculpture, gay with gold, To enshrine the image of a highdioni dame Limn'd by the painter's peerless art of old. " For this thou canst do, and this cannol I. And in our family the rule holds good Thai each must do his best to justify Steel'* born superiority to wood. THE PLANE AND THE PENKNIFE. 135 " The Axe, our father, in the forest wages Stout tattle Avith the centenary oaks ; And they, the giants of a hundred ages, Sink groaning underneath his sturdy strokes. " Ho ! ho ! the crash, when the old warrior goes In at them, and their rattling harness, plied By his reiterated ponderous blows, Bursts into faggots ! That is iron's pride. " The Saw, our mother, when she's set agoing Goes thro' it bravely, with a right good will. Once let her show her teeth, and there's no knowing What dust she'll make about her in the mill. " The lazy trees that lounged about the wood And scarce bestirr'd themselves the whole day long, She turns to trusty planks for service good. I, the strong firstborn of our parents strong, " Less strong than they are, am yet strong enough To finish the good work by them begun. Too tender thou art for such labour tough. Thou, brother, thou, the old couple's youngest son, " Since strength thou hast for nothing else, be thou At least an artist. We are of the few Born each, to make a mark i' th' world, and show There's metal in us. To thy birth be true." 136 1 AliLKS IN SONG. MORAL. Plain-spoken the Plane is, Ami sniiicwliut o'erweening But noble his strain is, Since noble its meaning. Noble utility Only is able To boast the nobility Praised in this fable. THE DRAG AND THE WHEEL. 137 XLVIIL THE DEAG AND THE WHEEL. 1. Click ! clack ! with a whoop and a whack ! The way is white, and the woods are black. Thro' glare and gloom, now in now out, What are the dust and noise about 1 In the cloud o' the dust, in the clear o' the day, What is it comes from the hills this way, Creaking, reeking, heavy and hot, Downward, town ward, What is it 1 What 1 2. The road is steep from the mountain-tops : Zigzag, lower and lower, it drops, Slanting, sidling, fantastically Down to the inn by the brook in the valley ; Whence it runs straight as a road can run, Half in the shadow and half in the sun. 138 FABLES IN SONG. Rumbling, grumbling, lumbering slow, "With a bi-gee-up ! and a hi-gee-wo ! In the white o' the dust, in the heat o' the day, Tis a loaded wagon that comes this way. And its heavily harness'd horses four Pant and smoke as they stop at the door Of the roadside inn, to rest them awhili For the team, since morn, hath been many a mile. While the grooms were giving the horses drink, The wagoner loosen'd the ponderous link, Lifted the glowing Drag, and again Hung him up by his iron chain Behind the wagon, 'twixt wheel and wheel 5. That Drag was shodden with stoutest steel ; But his rusty shoe was half worn away By the flinty ruts which had day by day Been rubbing him hare, as, clutching it still, He carried Ins wagon-load sale down hill. G. So now, as he swung there high and dry, ■ ( >uf !" groan'd he, " what a drudge am I ! THE DRAG AND THE WHEEL. 139 Tis a pretty sort of a life I lead ! Bearing the burden and staying the speed Of a wagon with ten good loads at least, Of timber atop ! each stupid beast Tugging away the more for me, And the stupid wheel, with its bandy knee Dug into my ribs, still doing its best To be turning round when it ought to rest ! And what reward have I had of it yet 1 Do good to others, small thanks you get ! For, look at these useless "Wheels here (nay, Useless, said 1 1 far worse are they !) If they had their will they would soon upset "Wagon, and timber, and all ! And yet Tho' the wagon is saved by my wise prevention, It is only they that receive attention. Do their spokes fall out 1 they are reinstated. Do their axles creak? they are lubricated, Greased, and eased, and coax'd to be quiet. Do their tires fall off 1 they get new ones by it, And go braced with a bran-new iron band, Brave as (bright arm'd by his lady's hand) Some knight sallies forth to the tournament, Whiles I, each bone of whose back is bent In their service, wearing myself away, Get never a thank-you night or day For the care without which (woe is me !) Soon would the wagon in pieces be." 140 FAI'.I.KS IN SONG. i. < >ne of the Wheels to the I >rag replied: •' Moderate, prithee, thy boastful pride, Thou who dost moderate other folk's speed, Doing naught else in the world, indeed ! Times (I acknowledge it) now and then Happen to us, as they happen to men, When our virtues are, for a while, defects. But 'tis so with the world's best intellects ; And those times are rare. 1 have heard men say There be water-wagons, whose perilous way Is over the sea. When it blows great gales, Their wagoners then take in the sails, And throw out the anchor ; putting the drag on, And stopping the wheels of the water-wagon. But say, are the sails no use at sea? Is the anchor the sole thing needed 1 We Are as good by land as, by sea, the sails : And, as good as the anchor is for the gales, Is the Drag for the hill-sides — going down. I Jut the gales and the hills are exceptions, own ! To each his merit ; but none need brag. More often the Wheel is of use than the Drag, As you'll see in a minute." 8. The beasts were fed : The wagoner junip'd on the wagon, and said. THE DRAG AND THE WHEEL. 141 " All right ! " and away with no fear of a fall, Started the wagon, and horses and all, At a brisk merry trot o'er the long low road That wound thro' the valley, so smooth and broad. The dust flew up, and the sparks flew out, The wagoner smack'd his whip with a shout, " Hu ! hu ! " and the wheels went round : 'Twas a pleasure to see them get over the ground. Their motion, mockingly, made the Drag Like a pendulum this way and that way wag. He seem'd, with a shrug of contempt, to say, " Prithee Go along, silly world, and the devil go with thee ! Hustle me ! justle me ! flout me still ! My turn will come — at the turn of the hill." 10. He was right. His turn came round at last ; And pass'd away — when the hill was past. 142 FABLES IN SOXO. XLIX. A HAUGHTY SPIRIT BEFORE A FALL. TART I. 1. " Blind, blind is fate ! unjust and hard my lot, "Who bear the burden of oblivious days Unnoticed and unchecr'd from spot to spot By dull and difficult ways ! How enviably doth the blissful Bird Bathe her free life in sunshine and sweet air, Earth's lightest elements, and undcterr'd Roam the wide welkin ! There Sublime she wanders with delighted mind Thro' heaven's high glories — I but guess, debanM From contemplation of them. Fate is blind, Unjust my lot, and hard ! " 2. Thus, tired by slow and weary pilgrimage Along a short, smooth, easy road, complain'd A HAUGHTY SPIRIT BEFORE A FALL. 143 A Tortoise ; resting ere the last long stage To his near goal was gain'd. Head, feet, and tail i' the dust, he lay spread out Self -crucified, a star that no light gave. Deep- buried in himself, he bore about His own life's living grave. Yet dream'd he ever of a great existence, Where, in lone lorddom over sea and land, Sun-crown'd and girdled with the azure distance The monarch mountains stand. Then suddenly the ambitious dreamer found His sordid life uplifted. Like his mind Sublime his body soar'd. His native ground Sank as he rose i' 4;he wind. And underneath the wide world opens round him. The silvery windings of the waters shine Like little sinuous snakes. ISTo limits bound him Save the broad heavens divine. The sprawling woods that seem'd immeasurable Clump themselves into definite dark shapes. The light green meadows lengthen. Skyward swell Grey curves of mountain capes. Deep in cold hollows of extinguish^ fire Sleep the intense blue tarns. Sharp points of snow Glitter, and valleys green with ice-fields, higher Than other green things grow. 144 FABLES IN SON': The pure caress of airs, tho' keen not harsh. Cool in the calm of that etherial height Fan tlif delighted dweller of the marsh, Thrill'd by unwonted flight. A second Ganymede some second Jove, Seeking for beauty here on earth misknown, In him hath haply found, and home above To the Olympian Throne. So deem'd the dupe of his own blind ambition, And cried, " my prophetic soul, at last The Gods repent ! Accepting Fate's contrition, I do forgive the past." PART II. And tho', indeed, no Ganymede The beast was, yet 'tis true That Jove's own bird on him conferred This god-like point of view. For, as of old, some bandit hold, Baulk'd of his promised prey (The Bishop's self with bags of pelf) Might grumbling hear away The Bishop's Fool whose limping mule Belated lags behind, So, missing aim at nobler game, An Eagle chanced to find A HAUGHTY SPIRIT BEFORE A FALL. 145 The torpid beast ; unfit to feast His Eaglet brood, but still A trifling toy which they, for joy And not for food, might kill. As in the Eagle's claw The Tortoise upward sail'd, His flight a Swallow saw, And, " beware !" she wail'd, " Against thy nature's law Why hast thou rashly rail'd ? Poor denizen of dust, Confide not in the fate Which doth exalt, and must Destroy, thee soon or late. Be warn'd in time : mistrust The contact of the great." " Error ! " that dupe replied. " The patron who in me My latent genius spied Respects it, tho' it be By unjust gods denied What they bestow'd on thee. Thanks to his recognition, I lack no longer now The long-desired condition Which gives to such as thou VOL. II. ] 16 FABLES IN SONG. Their freedom, and position Above the world. I know That on the restoration To me, and to my nice, Of that exalted station Which we were born to grace, 1 lepends the whole creation. Till then all's out of place." PART III. 1. And, tho' his listener I « > 1 1 .^ ago was gone, And to the empty air he spoke alone, Still he continued, with important tone. 2. " Scorn not the form by daedal ages made For my adornment and the world'B devotion, In symbol of the ti\t foundation laid For the world's motion ! The first word of creation was Testudo, And all was in the word. My sire grandseval Bore on his hack (as easily as you do ( 'hater or Weevil In beak or claw) the elephant gigantic, Who bore the whole world's weight upon his own. A HAUGHTY SPIRIT BEFORE A FALL. Wt "Wild Change, the revolutionary antfc, Was then unknown ; Then, based on principle, the world stood fast ; And when the changing world to changeless me Eepentant turns, then all shall rest at last "Where all should be. You others are as wanton as the weather, Respecting naught. But truth survives neglect. I wait, and hug myself, and keep together My self-respect. Who knows 1 The old Saturnian times return : Order I bring, and peace, to earth again, When tipsy Fortune from her tilted urn Shakes down " . . . . Just then His evil star, on which he had not reckon'd, Wink'd, and a Hare into the open beckon'd. The Eagle spied the tempting prey, Unclasp'd his claws, and, well-a-day ! As swift as crash Succeeds to flash, W T hen thunder-clouds together clash, A swooning fall, a sounding smash ! And on the earth, it was his vain Tho' brave ambition to sustain, Shatter'd the Tortoise lay. 148 FABLES IN BONG. PART IV. The friend thai warn'd him in his hour of pride Hia downfall spied. The modest bird, with loudly llutter'd breast, Flew to the nest Which sho, who throws in sport o'er sea and Land (Beneath it spann'd) The aery bridge so exquisitely light Of her bold flight, Builds, safely shelter'd under low-thatch'd eaves, Of clay and leaves. There did she mourn, " Mistaken aspiration Is self-damnation. He who himself hath misappreciated, Is twice ill-fated. For what his nature never may attain lie pines in vain, Whilst in his natural home, whate'er it be, A stranger lie ! Ah. hadst thou known the world as well as I, Ne'er from on high Wbuldst thou have fallen, but hadst lived content As nature meant. Thee doth desire impel to thine unrest, Me to my nest." THE ROSE AND THE BRAMBLE. 149 THE BOSE AND THE BE AMBLE. There was a garden — no matter where — The world is full tff such gardens. There Flowers of all colour and odour grew ; And, whatever their odour, whatever their hue, The gardener gave to them each alike What for each Avas good. In congenial ground He set each seedling to shoot and strike ; Each sprout he chcrish'd and water'd round With the self-same vigilance everywhere, Tended each hud with the self-same care ; And, nevertheless, in colour and scent, They came up, all of them, different. Each had something that "best became it : Each had some quality fair and fit : Each had a beauty whereby to name it : Each had a merit to praise in it. One by its leaf, and one by its stem, This by its colour, and that by its smell, These by their blossomy diadem, And those by their fruit, did the rest excel. 150 FABLES IN BONG. ]!ut when thai garden was open'd, fcho e Who walk'd there, turn'd, aa they wandered by, With one accord to admire the Rose ; Ami the rest of the flowers could guess not why. For ■■ Each flower's a Howe;," they all averred, ■■ Ami the Rose is only a flower we know." Now the praise bestowM ne has but to notice and do the same." So the Bramble, as soon as the next Spring came, Noticed; and saw that the Rose's stem Was all cover'd with thorns; and "Oh ho!" quoth lie, ' li- ill" thorns that do it ! But we'll heat them, Ami the world shall see what the world shall see." THE ROSE AND THE BRAMBLE. 151 •Then, by checking the natural circulation Of his proper sap in a few May morns The Bramble, ambitious of admiration, To imitate Roses put forth thorns. Yet still, as before, to admire the Rose The folk pass'd by him. " Good folks," cried he, " These thorns of mine are more sharp than those That roughen the rosebush. Turn, and see ! " But nobody heard what the Bramble cried, Or a passing glance of approval cast him. Then, to catch the notice, the Bramble tried, By catching the skirts, of all who pass'd him. Which attempt succeeded too well, indeed. For the folk then noticed the Bramble, crying, " Gardener, away with this troublesome weed, Which tears our clothes ! " And the gardener, spying The cause of complaint, " Not in all my life Was I ever disgraced before," he said, " By such a sad eyesore ! " whipping Ms knife Out of his pocket ; and soon, half dead, With his feelers all by the roots uptorn, On the other side of the garden wall Was the luckless Bramble flung forlorn, To fare as he might there, thorns and all. The Bramble ruefully shook his head, And " What in the world does it mean V he said. " May I be blighted if I can see What the difference is 'twixt the Rose and me ! 152 FABLES IN SONG. I >ne tiling alone have I understood : That what in a Bramble is taken ill In a Eose is reckon'd all fair and good. But the reason why is a mystery, And of vyin.L; with Hoses I've had my fill." Then the Bramble crawl'd away to the wood : And there in the wood you may find him still. DUCUNT VOLEXTEM FATA, ETC. 153 LT. DUCUNT VOLENTEM FATA: NOLENTEM TEAHUNT. 1. A man, who lack'd even means to make amends By health and hope for lack of wealth and friends, Having no tie to life save pain's harsh tether, Resolved to end both pain and life together ; And leapt into a river to fulfil That woeful purpose, when, against his will, Another man, rich, happy, hopeful, young, Whilst listening to the bridal bells that rung Blithe recognition of his marriage morn, Fell into the same river. Both were borne Adown the stream ; whose wave, indifferent To different causes, rolling onward went To reach the same effect ; regardless which It drown'd the first, the poor man or the rich. 154 FABLES IX BONG. A Sage, who bappen'd bo 1"- passing by, And saw those two men drowning, was thereby Thrown into a long train of thoughts, profound And rapid as thai river. Ai one bound. The recollection that he could not swim Came in the first thought that occurr'd to him. The second from the first as swiftly flow'd As wave from wave, and, by reflection, show'd, Concerning those two miserable men, Who to their deaths were drifting close in ken, That, if he tried to help them, there might be, Instead of only two drown'd bodies, three. His third thought was, that 'twas no use at all To run in search of aid, or even call, since, long ere aid could reach them, even if found, The wretches must infallibly be drown'd. Eifl fourth thought, which at once he acted on, As being the sole thing proper to be done Without delay, was to elucidate To these two victims of the for< e of fate Fate's ways, by force of prudenl precept Now, Tho' how to swim he knew not, he knew how To talk in Latin. That was his profession. And, (being himself in safe and sound possession Of all his wits) as loud as he was able, Be, in the words which introduce this Fable, " Ducunt volentem fata" with a shout, ■ Not, „l, m In/hunt," from the bank bawl'd out. DUCUXT YOLEXTEM FATA, ETC. 155 And was it chance, or was it intuition 1 Vast were the treasures of his erudition ; But from the stores of truths which he possess'd (The one half serving to refute the rest) That Sage, hy dint of long and deep reflection, Could not have made a luckier selection, For, whilst Philosophy thus took her stand Calm, as became her, upon good firm land, The truth which she proclaim'd, (put out no whit By plentiful cold water pour'd on it) Her influence proved ; awakening there and then In the damp'd spirits of those drowning men, This thought : that, if Fate treats the self-same way The willing and un willing, whether they Resist or yield, the end's the same end still, And bootless both, to will or not to will. Its next result inverted that conviction, Proving the force of truth by contradiction, Philosophy's chief triumph ! Thus, the first Of those two men, who, with a will athirst For sudden watery annihilation, Had jump'd into the river, — tho' natation Was not to him an art unknown, forewent it, Letting his body, as the current sent it, Drift will-less down the water, and from volens Became, comparatively speaking, nolens. The other, who was in the same position Against his will, exerting strong volition, 15G lAI'.LES IX SONG. Tax'd all his wits to compensate to him The sad chance of not knowing how to swim ; Call'd to his mind the bride who now no douht Was wondering what her bridegroom was about, Imaged her loss in his ; and, fortified By fond emotions, strove against the tide With such a vigorous valour that at length He reach'd, and caught, and clutch' d with all his strength, The lean arm of a weeping willow tree ; "Which o'er the water stoop'd, and seem'd to be Already making solemn preparation For his appropriate funeral oration. Tho' much it wept, the willow's nerves were strong : The man, meanwhile, cried lustily and long. And, since 'twas not in Latin that he cried, But that plain language everywhere employ' d By living creatures to express joy, pain, Or need, a ploughman on the neighbouring plain Heard him ; and, understanding from tin- sound That some one was unwilling to be drown'd, Kan to the rescue. M iich at the same time The Brsl man floated to a bank of slime [nsensible, and stuck there: by and by Came to himself again : sprawl'd up: shook dry DUCUNT VOLENTEM FATA, ETC. 157 His dripping rags : and, as the latest word Which, ere his senses left hirn, he had heard Was said in Latin, shivering as he dried him, The wretch sigh'd ruefully " Non bis in idem ! " Then clamher'd to the shore with trailing tread, Slunk home, and sank, unsupper'd, into hed. — There, long in miserable plight he lay, Eack'd by an aguish fever night and day. But, since he could not pay the doctor's fees, Gratis the man recover'd by degrees. And now, one miracle another follow'd ; For by the last disease the first was swallow VI, Just as one nail drives out another one. Feeling his health and strength restored, anon, Ere he set out in search of work, the man To brush and clean his sand-caked clothes began. When, lo you, yet another miracle ! The best of all. For, glittering as they fell, The grains of sand that off his garments roll'd Were mixt with grains of veritable gold. The poor man sought the well-remember'd bank Which for his cold, and gold, he had to thank. 'Twas all auriferous. He tested it, But kept the secret — and the gold, till bit By bit a little capital he got. Therewith the bank he bought, and on the spot Built workshops, hiring out of many a land Workmen to wash the wealth from that rare sand. Plenteous the profit was, since pure the gold. And thus the man, at last, grew rich — and old. J 58 FABLES IX SONG. One day, came, footsore, from a distant Shire A workman asking work. Well worth his hire The i- proved. A sober man was he, Bard-working, honest. Tho' he Beem'd to be l!y something nobly mournful in his mien For bettor fortunes born, yet staid, serene, And silent, he his daily taskwork plied. With curious gaze full oft the master eyed This stranger: whom one day, when work was done, He sought, and, at the setting of the sun, Found by the river bank, with tearful eye Watching a willow tree thai wept thereby. " Thou sufferest, honest friend 1 " the good man cried. " I, too, have suffer'd. Trust me." Faintly sigh'd The other (answering not) " willow tree Dumitt roll id,' in j'nfii . . . woe is me . . . Nolnd, in trahunt ! " Much surprised to hear Those words, once heard before with drowning ear, The master ask'd, and learn'd, at last, what we Already know. With this much more: that she For whose sake tins poor wretch had saved his life That life had fill'd with mi i cy, Bhame, and strife, And at the last had left him, leaving not, To reconcile him to his ruin'd lot, • Fortune or friends. Thus had he lived to hate That luckless hour when lie, at strife with fate, Had won the victory. " Friend, forget the past !" The master cried. " In mine a home thou hast. DUCUNT VOLENTEM FATA, ETC. 159 Nor wife have I, nor children. Be mine heir. Who art mine only kinsman, I declare. For kinsfolk of a sort we needs must he, Two fishes out of the same water, we ! " Then, when the other hesitated, " Nay," He added, laughing, " Fate will have her way. So, nolens volens, it must needs he so. Shake hands upon it. There's no saying no, When Fate saith ay." 6. Conversing thus, the two Whoni Fate so strangely had united now By land, as once by water, by and by Bethought them of the Sage who from on high, When each was floundering in the flood below, Had graciously vouchsafed to let them know A truth ; which he, for the occasion, took From Seneca ; who stole it from the book Of some Greek Poet ; who had borrow'd it From some one else ; to whom some other Wit Had lent it first. So, forth the two friends set To find the Sage to whom they owed this debt. Him, after fruitless search for many a day, They found, when he was being borne away To his last resting-place. Where, as 'tis fit, This story also ends. No fable it ; 160 FABLES IX BONG. Albeit not on that account a fad : Since every fable must have to it tackt Some sort of moral But such tales as these May serve for murals, if their readers please, To all those fabulous things which so confound as By really happening in the world around us. SUUM QUIQUE. 161 LII. SUUM QUIQUE. It was the hour when woods are cold And there is no colour in all the sky, Because night's blue is gone, and the gold 0' the dawn not coming till by and by : It was the hour when vapours white Are over the dark meer rolling slow From the brewage brew'd by the water-sprite Who inhabits the sunless deeps below. 2. In the reed and rush, 'twixt meer and fen, Two wild white Swans were fighting then ; For a wild white Swan-Bride fighting keen ; The lake's two lords for the lake's one queen. And altho' both woo'd her, but one could wed, And but one be victor, tho' both fought well. VOL. II. L 162 FABLES IN BONG. And tin! vanquisht warrior, wounded, fled Foom the wrath «»i" his rival peer, and fell, Over the reed-fenced rivage damp, [nto the filth of the fenny swamp; Whence the sound of Ins funeral hymn rose clear From the marsh to the woodland, and over the meer. 3. Thro' the reeds he crushes, from the forest rushes The bristly hulk of the fierce Wild Boar; i trashing down bud and bush, pashing the mud and slush, And scattering filth from his cleft feet four. And '• Who is it that calleth for help?" quoth he. " Here, all who enter my subjects be. Let the wronger beware ! and, if fight he can, Fight for his life, or fly with speed ! Eh, . . . but, bless my bristles ! . . . a Swan 1 And, if I mistake not, a Swan indeed ! Welcome, Cousin ! Allow me, pray, To ask what weather blew //-•" this way ! Or is it, lord of the lucid lake, (Thou stateliest swimmer .') that thy white neck Is weary of watching each snowy flake < If its whiteness imaged without a Bpeck In the over-perfect purity And tedious calm of the crystal Hood ? And hast thou, too, learn'd, at last, to sigh For the common, but more congenial, mud 1 Hah ! by each buffalo's cloven cresl SUUM QUIQUE. 163 In the herd of them put to flight by me, I swear (for I love thee, noble guest !) I will share mine acorn crops with thee, If thou, contented, a swine with swine, Wilt change those too-white plumes of thine For the bristles and hair We hogs do wear. Already, thy haughty beauty wanes ! Fallen, tho' unresign'd, art thou. And the spurted slime of the fen's drench stains That princely bosom of spotless snow. Thou that immaculate swammest the meer, Wallow in mud, and be welcome, here ! " Bleeding, aching, weary, and wan, Bitterly listen'd the noble swan, To those brutal words ; and " shame and grief ! He moan'd, " that in such a place — to me — And with such a speech — the ignoble chief Of an obscene herd should dare to proffer His fulsome friendship filthy and free, And a swan be shamed by a swinish offer ! " 5. With failing breath, On the threshold of death, By an effort vast (His saddest and last) [64 FABLES IN SONG. He arose ; and, quickly Staunching his wound With tlic grasses sickly That grow on such ground, Sprang forward ; crying " St Pelican ! I die ; but, in dying, Am still a swan ! St Pelican hear me, And giant my cry ! In death be near me, And let me die As I lived, at least, A swan, not a beast, In mine own pure element's purity ! " G. The Saint reprieved him. The wave received him. And, washing the stain from each wounded limb, On his deathbed bathed and rebaptiscd him. Then, backward turning his stately head, ( )n the haunts of those he had scorn'd and fled He gazed ; and saw with a dying eye Afar in the fore \\ the filthy herd, Profaning its sacred groves, rush by; And the mirth of the wallowing monsters heard. SUUM QUIQUE. 165 And " Each to his own ! " the Wild Swan said, " And his own to each ! and I to mine ! As the Swan to his purity, so to his bed In the mud he was born for, returneth the Swine. For, if a Swan fall in the filth of the fen Where the dew turns slime and the green grows sallow, And even the strong foot slips, what then 1 He doth but fall where the Swine doth wallow. Suum caique, To live or die : Hie et ubique A Swan am I ! " L66 FABLES IN SONG. LIIL 1 II E TWO Ti; A V ELLEES ; OR, LOVE AN I) DEATH. We are not made for Beauty, nor for Love, Nor for Eternity, Perchance. But something in us, from ahove, Yearns to embrace all three. Lost in a silent land of winter wild, Where, warming nothing, yet on all tilings smiled The eternal snows that lit thai lonesome land, Two weary travellers wander'd, stall' in hand, I >\er the frozen hills. East friends, together They two had fared thro' fortune's changing weather ; And each had loved ; and each life's common chance Hail curst with war 'twixt love and circumstance. Hut in that conflict, one to love, that claim'd, Bad yielded, all : whilst one life's fate had freed THE TWO TRAVELLERS. 167 From love's embrace ; and, struggling forward, mairn'd In every feeling, saved, not all, indeed, But all mere life hath left when love is dead, And dead, with love, life's sense of lovely things. ISTow, as they wander'd weary, round them spread (To make more weary still their wanderings) Endless tranquillity. And all the while Above them, and about them, everywhere Along the land and in the leafless air, Throughout that region of unblest repose They felt the fixt unsympathising smile Of the eternal snows. It was the smile of Eternity, That smileth, whether men live or die. Every sorrow, and every joy, Every pleasure, and every pain, Hath something — it may be, all — to dread. But, with nothing to lose, and nothing to gain, Eternity smileth the smile of the dead. " I have seen the Sphynx in the Desert " said To his fellow-pilgrim one of the twain, " And the smile upon Nature's face, methinks, Is as the smile on the face of the Sphynx : The smile of indifference ! Death smiles so, And so smiles Love — on the loss and woe That waste the hearts of his human prey When, having o'erwhelm'd them, he passeth away 168 FABLES IN SONG. As they sink in dust, to smile clown for ever From his unattainable heaven so high On the generations, whose foil'd endeavour Cannot interpret, however it try, N"i- answer, save by a feverish sigh, That inscrutable smile, with its unsad Never ! For Love is Love, for aye, as of old : And, Spring by Spring, as the leaves unfold, Lives shall blossom in Love's strong sun That beameth for all, and abideth for none. But Life is mortal, tho' Love be not, And Death is, was, and shall be. And Xature heeds not her children's lot, A wanton mother is she ! Friend, I am tired, and can no further fare. Here will I rest." — "Ah, madman ! " cried the other, " Here is but Ruin with Rest's face. Beware ! Shake off' this fatal lethargy, my brother ! 'Tis Death that woos, and not Repose, Tho weary and unwise To his cold couch in these deep snows. Poor wretch, arouse ! arise ! Some succour, sure, must be at hand, Some issue from this dreadful land. For lo! where leans yon woodland high Along the windless air, Some woodman's hut methinks I spy, Or charcoal-burner's rude repair, A snmke is in the frosty sky. Deliverance must be near ! " THE TWO TRAVELLERS. 169 " Ah, brother, prithee let me be." His comrade answer' d. " Whither flee ? Deliverance ! . . . dost thou seek it ? See, 'Tis at our feet — 'tis here ! " And, as he spake, he sank. "With a shrill cry The other turn'd, and fled : from peak to peak Springing, and clinging, dizzily, foot and hand. The upland forest, heavy, huge, and high, Seem'd slipping o'er him from its icy shelves. And, wildly mocking the man's human shriek, With most inhuman revelry, Outleapt the echoes of that lonesome land, Like mad malignant elves. O'er the giddy steeps he climbs, he leaps, And his breath is salt with blood. And there's blood in the skies — or blood in his eyes — As, with reeling steps, and cboking cries, And broken strength, he reaches, at length, The Woodman's hut in the wood. And his voice doth seem like a voice in a dream When he shouts and beats at the Woodman's door, Faint and blind as a wasted wind That beats its life out, trying to find Its lost way over a moor. " Ope, Woodman ! ope For charity ! 170 FABLES IN SONG. Hi'lp ! help ! a rope, A hand ! Hard by On the nether slope Doth my comrade lie, Lost, if no hope Of help be nigh, For I can no more. Wake, Woodman! wake, And open the door For Jesu's sake ! " " Come hither ! come hither ! " the "Woodman cried To his four sons, " and bear him inside, And nile him a bearskin bed, And cut the boots from his swollen feet. These famisht pidses feebly beat, But the poor wretch is not dead." So the Foresters chafed him, limb by limb, Till, feebly, again, in each frozen vein The life-blood ran ; and the rescued man Felt Death's fingers releasing him. His lips they bathed in the cordial cup, And, alive at last, they lifted him up ; But leaving in Death's grip, lost and gone Life's ransom — claim'd by the hungry cold, Which had bitten his tlesh to the very bone, So that what remain'd of the man thus saved Was a ruin — horrible to behold, • >n whose living flesh Death's mark was graved. THE TWO TRAVELLERS. 171 Then this living half of the half-saved man The search after his lost friend began, Whom he, and the Foresters, found at last Sunk in the drifted snow, beneath That desolate upland vague and vast, Dead — but beautiful in death. And over the dead man's face was cast The smile of the Sphynx : that smile which is The smile of indifference. Seeing this, He that saw it recall'd the past. When, long since, they twain were young, And, as together they journey 'd along Life's unknown, and yet untried, way Love o'ertook them, and seized his prey, The dead man there, now calm, and fair, With a mighty effort had broken Love's snare, Giving to him, the survivor now, The self-same counsel, to struggle on, He, himself, had refused, when he sank in the snow, And gave up the ghost ere the goal was won. Not so of yore ! when, with tears, he tore His tortured spirit from Love's control, But thus left for ever behind him, lost, The finest and fairest parts of his soul, Saving the rest of himself at their cost. Now, he lay dead, with the smile on his face. Dead, but unblemisht, and fair in death, 172 FABLES IN BONG And, over his features calm, the grace Of a pcarc unbroken by mortal breath. Maim'd in feature, and crippled in limb, The living man look'd down upon him ; And, fair, in the dead man's face (with awe Hi 'cause of its careless beauty) he saw The image serene of his own dead soul. Dead — but in death still beautiful! AN ILL-ASSORTED COUPLE. LIV. AN" ILL-ASSORTED COUPLE. 1. There was a couple who could not agree, Tho' conjoin'd by a fate they were forced to obey. And of one of that couple the name was He, And the name of the other did He call They. Different in age, as in all, were the two ; The youngest He, and yet ages old ; They even older, and short of view, As of hearing hard, if the truth be told. He was resolved (and some sages say It is man's best study) to study himself ; Taking small heed of his yokemate. They Spared no abuse of the self-will'd elf. 17-1 FABLES IN BONG. 4. ■• 11k," said They, " Lb the bitterest brute ! A bear, ;ui«l bis bearish actions show it." Which opinion settled beyond dispute, 'Twas a miracle only coukl overthrow it. 5. Bui falling sick, and recovering slowly, I Ik grew as tame as a brute- could be : And, bis rebel habits reforming wholly, Meek and mild as a lamb was He; Doing whatever a lamb can do To evince the virtues for which man love it : Whilst They, disinclined to opinions new, Cried " He is a bear, and his actions prove it ! Hard of hearing, and short of sight, Tims They took . . . was it ten years, or more? To discover that all was at last lamb white In the blackness so bearishly black before. 8. Truth, however, will find her way To the dullest brain, if you grant her time ; AN ILL-ASSOETED COUPLE. 175 And so after thus chiming its ten years, They Changed of a sudden this chiding chime. 9. " He," at last said They, with no doubt at all, " Is the sweetest soul. We have wrong'd him, we. And that was but honey we took for gall." Meanwhile (what was it sour'd him 1) He, 10. Because He had tried and had fail'd to please, Or because of original sin, once more, A backslider, became by unblest degrees, The unsocial bear he had been before. 11. Yet " He," cry They, and still go on crying, " Is the sweetest soul, and his actions show it ! Do They believe it, or are They lying 1 One thing only is sure. I know it. 12. Between a man and his reputation There is a space to be travell'd thro' : And when rumour reaches its destination The tale it tells is no longer true. 176 FABLES IX SONG. 13. Each ray of the star you are praising to-night Hath been long on its way to your world below : Ami your praises, perchance, are bestow'd on the light Of a star that hath perish'd an age ago. BETWEEN HAMMER AND ANVIL 177 LV. BETWEEN" HAMMER AND ANVIL. (a song of the iron age.) 1. The bellows, breathing, fann'd the forge : Forth sprang the thrill'd white sparks in throngs The Young Smith from the furnace gorge Pluck'd out between his pinching tongs, And flat on the resonant anvil laid, The red iron, ablush with a radiant glow : The Old Smith, dealing it blow on blow, "With his ponderous hammer the hot mass bray'd, 2. And, whilst about it son and sire In mutual mirth their business plied, The iron, weeping tears of fire, To hammer and to anvil cried VOL. II. m 178 FAl'.LKS IX sum;. ■• It Lb iron ye be, yet, torturing two, It is iron ye torture ! " But " Suffer thy lot," — They replied to him, "fool, and upbraid us not; For there's some one above us is dealing the blow." ( >U bad the Old Smith, whirling fast His hammer, heard that talk 1 ? For, gay He, thro' the roar o' the furnace blast, Laugh'd "Divide et impera /" "Amen! Amen .'" the iron replied, giving vent To a groan, as it grew to a sword. This, anon, To its place in the arsenal pass'd : and the son Of the Old Smith into the army went. One day the town's bad blood broke out. The artizans arose in arms : The Civic Guard they put to rout, And lill'd the streets with fierce alarms. But the soldiers came cantering into the town : And, with patriot pride in so loyal a job, Slashing this way and that as he rode thro' the mob, A \ oung soldier by chance the ringleader cut down. :>. •■ My sun : " the giant gasp'd ; and heard, As grovelling in his gore he lay, BETWEEN HAMMER AND ANVIL. 179 A captain, who had given the word, Laugh " Divide et impera ! " ■ ; Amen ! Amen ! " the Old Smith responded ; and died As the Young Smith, unnoticing, flourish'd his sword. Eevolution was ended and order restored By the youth's unintentional parricide. The King then went to war. Long while His stricken subjects rued that day. The foeman gain'd by gold and guile One half the misruled realm away. Thus, against itself upon all sides turn'd, Did the gash'd land bleed at each gaping pore : They but meant it well, the two armies swore : Meanwhile they ravish'd, and robb'd, and burn'd. 7. And in the last great fight of all The Old Smith's soldier son expired. His ribs were broken by a ball From his old Captain's pistol fired. But, before the last breath of his life he breathed, He resolved, at the least, not to breathe it in vain ; And the sword that erewhile had his father slain In the breast of his leader lost he sheathed. 180 FABLKS IN SoNC. 8. Tin- conquering General rude that May, Glowing and fierce as Mais' own Flamen, Laugh'd " Divide et impera !" And gallop' J onward. "Amen! Amen!" Willi a finger sly on his Golden Fleece, (While the. General gave his moustache a twist) Kesponded the smiling Diplomatist < iommission'd to .settle and sign the Peace. The Peace was sign'd : and, having wrought The conquest thus confirm \1, elate, The Military Party thought [tself the master of the State. Iiut the IMplomat, hiding his own intent, The I renerals, jealous and fierce, inllamed With a rival hope ; and the fools proclaim'd A Republic ; that chose him as President. 10. For, whilst with faction faction fought, The moderate man slipp'd in hetween \ The votes of either party bought, And haulk'd them hoth. More calm and keen Than the rival chiefs that around him vied, When the popular choice he had charm' d away BETWEEN HAMMER AND ANVIL. 181 The rogue laugh'd " Divide, wipera I " Praising himself with a secret pride. 11. Yet, tho' so soft the whisper' d word He, laughing in his sleeve, let fall, Its secret boast one listener heard ; Who, unobserved, observing all, Behind him stood with a downcast eye, And a serious smile on a meek lip set, As " Amen I " he mutter'd, and softlier yet "Amen ! " again, to his rosary. 12. The Young priest, he, to whom by choice The dame, whose charms in private bless'd That charmer of the public voice, The weakness of the fiesh confess'd. Thus craftsmen and soldiers and clerics and laymen Do the burden pass, as they pass their way : And the burden is Divide impera ! And the response to it is Amen ! Amen ! 13. Sic semper ! Iron still is dasht On iron : blood on blood. The hours That rock the round world, rolling clasht From the high tops of temple towers, L82 FAULKS IN SMX(,'. Are the hammers of Fate : and they fall and fall Heavy and fast on the anvil of Time; Where Humanity changes its shape as they chime, And, save only in shape, never changes at all. 14. Twixt hammer, thus, and anvil bruised, The wretch upbraids that torturing two ; And they reply, the oft accused, " There's one above us, deals the blow." "Who is it, then ? History's intricate page Can but reckon the strokes, and record the gravamen. Stat pro ratione voluntas. Amen. This is the song of the Iron Age. HOMO HOMIXI LUPUS. 183 LVI. HOMO HOMINT LUPUS. 1. Some villagers who in their trap had caught An old sheep-stealing wicked Wolf at last, Resolved that he to trial should be brought, And judgment in due form upon him past. And since no Counsel could avail him aught, Because in fact his sentence was forecast, The Court, considering his case a grave one, Most graciously ordain'd that he should have one. 2. They might have hang'd or headed him at once "Without this legal circumbendibus, Since he was in their power for the nonce. But Justice loves, as cats do with a mouse, Not to make all at once her final pounce Without some fond preliminary fuss Of indecision. So the Court decided A Counsel for the Wolf should be provided. I - 1 FABLES IN SONG. 3. A man as full of learning as a book, A scientific traveller much respected By all the worthies of that rural nook "Where he awhile was lodging, they elect ed To this good office : which he undertook Well pleased, since he for the accused detected Much to be urged. No harm the Wolf had done To flocks or herds of his. The man had none. 4. The Prosecutor's speech, as it behoved, Was most laconically eloquent. " For, since the Wolf's a wolf, my case is proved." Said he, avoiding needless argument. Thro' no superfluous details he roved, But to the point with plain precision went, And cut his speech short, keeping to one head, The Wolfs ; which must be cut off too, he said. 5. Upon the utterance of this demand The Culprit's learned Counsel shoVd his teeth ; The Wolf's teeth, not his own, you understand. And goodly teeth they were ; above, beneath, Two rows of daggers formidably plann'd Their shining blades in flesh and blood to sheathe. HOMO HOMINI LUPUS. 185 " And you'll admit," he said, " one fact is plain : Such tools were never made for grinding grain. 6. " But, as your shears for shearing wool were made, Which is the purpose that you put them to, So were the teeth set in this creature's head For tearing flesh ; and he employs them so. "What is there in such conduct to upbraid ? The Wolf is innocent. He does but do As Nature bids him ; whom obey he must. Then cut off Nature's head, if you'd be just. ' ; This beast, moreover, ('tis no merit small) Is one of the best parents in creation. I, therefore, for the Wolf's acquittal call, With damages to boot, and compensation From you his judges and accusers all, For false imprisonment and defamation." The Judges and the Jurymen were, each And all, at first struck speechless by this speech. 8. But soon, with sense of scandalised propriety, They left the Wolf, his Counsel to assail ; For language quite subversive of society, And doctrines which, if suffer'd to prevail, isi; FAJBLE8 IN BONG. Would place all honest folks in greal anxiety, Despite of gallows, constable, and jail. Science escaped, sore bruised, from this affray, Aud the sly Wolf, ill guarded, slipp'd away. 9. The Culprit and his Counsel being lied, JN"o case reniain'd hefore the Court. " I ween Never was such ill luck ! " a Juror said. " That rogue, the Wolf, would certainly have been Condemn' d on every count, to lose his head, But for this most discreditable scene. For, what in our assemblies is so rare, This time we were unanimous, I'll swear." 10. " Friend," said another, " then you'll swear too much. Peter would still have voted against Paul : First, since by nature, or by habit, such His practice is j and next, since, after all, He knew his counter-vote could work no touch Of difference in the sentence, great or small. Some men there be who vote in opposition Always, with safety, upon this condition. 11. " The mischief is that, having now been told By that subversive scientific knave HOMO IIOMLNI LUPUS. 187 That he is in his natural rights, made bold Thereby, the Wolf is likely to behave With even greater licence than of old ; And, fill'd with self-conceit, will fiercely crave The free indulgence of a natural right, To satisfy his wolfish appetite." 12. " Nay, neighbours," said a third, " you are, indeed, Too hard upon the Doctor. By the way, Who was it, Martin, cured thy cough unfee'd 1 Who mended Peter's pump 1 And who, Paul, say, Taught thee, by crossing, to improve that breed Whose fleeces fetch'd the highest price to-day 1 Ye took his counsel then, which now you spurn Because, forsooth, it serves another's turn. 13. " He said the Wolf was right to be a thief. And that is going far too far, say I. But then, he added that the Wolf's the chief Of all good fathers of a family ; Which gives the lupine character relief. That touch'd me, and should touch us all. Por why? These dangerous characters have still a heart ; By Avhich to win them is the statesman's art." 183 FABLES IX SONG. 14. So spake the Village Schoolmaster, lie had A numerous family himself. In all Nine children, counting in the good and bad Together, and the big ones with the small. A i'( llnu-tather-feeling made him sad That iven a rascal's family should fall Into starvation ; and his eyes grew dim, For his own eloquence drew tears from him. 15. As for the Wolf, so far as can be guess'd, Nothing by all this praise and all this blame In him was alter'd. It must be confess' d A common error to think words make tame Or fierce such creatures. "Wholly uninipress'd By all our talking, they remain the same. A wolf's a wolf: and nothing you can say Will change him, tooth or teat, say what you may. 1G. Good talkers, flatter not the hungry crowd. All your soft words will butter it no bread. Yet speak the truth, nor spare to speak it loud For fear lest Hunger's clamour to be fed, Acknowledged just, should wax too fierce and proud. Wmds change not facts. Friends, cut off Hunger's head : There'll be no wolves to fear, or Hatter, then. I f not ; beware of hungry wolves — and men ! THE HOESE AND THE FLY. 189 LVII. THE HOESE AXD THE ELY. 1. A Horse-fly stung a Coach-horse in the nose. The Horse, with pain and terror of the "bite, Rear'd, and (despite the Driver's cries and blows) Upset the coach ; and gallop'd out of sight. 2. Side by side together, knitting Happy hand in hand, were sitting In the coach, when it roll'd over, Maiden-bride and Bridegroom-lover. By a pair More fond and fair Bridal vows were never spoken : And already rose in view The sweet home they were journeying to, When the Bridegroom's neck was broken, And the Bride's heart broken too. 190 F\l:l.i:s IX SONG. 3. The Coachman, from the coach-box thrown, Dash't nut his brains on a boulder stone. The honest fellow behind him left A widow and orphans live hereft. 4. Fast and faster the Horse, poor brute, Flying in vain from the feign'd pursuit Of the goading pang his own flesh hath in it, And fiercely quickening at eaeh wild minute The impetuous speed of his desperate paces ; Whilst clamorous after him clatter the traces W'liirh trail'd thro' a whirlwind of dust, he drags; (With Hat cars back laid, and red nostril llay'd. And Hanks foam-OOzing, that heave and smoke) ( lallops into the town, gallops over the flags, Where, to left and to right in precipitous flight, He scatters the startled and terrified folk. 5. Alter drifted blossoms straying, Birds ami butterflies waylaying, Down the street a Child is playing Springing, singing, for pure joy, THE HOUSE AND THE FLY. 191 All the world Lis pleasant toy ; A fair, rosy, bright-hair' d boy. 6. And the people shout, and the people cry : And he hears the noise : but he knows not why The others are shouting, and he shouts too, For the joy of mere noise, as a child will do : And the galloping horse gallops over him. And that pretty Child (but a minute before, Life's merriest minim, all mirth and whim) Now a palpitant ruin bedabbled in gore, "With bright head bleeding and broken limb, The people bear to his father's door. That father's only child was he : Lost heir to a princely pedigree : Last fruit of an old ancestral tree. 8. Alas, what sufferings from a single cause ! How many wrongs, how many miseries ! What misdeeds punishable by no laws ! Who was the guilty author of all these ? The Horse 1 But what responsibility Have horses for their conduct, even when I9S FABLES IN SONG. No horae-fliea bite them? Not the Horse? The Fly? Well, but the Ely's misdeed ? what was it, then? 9. Maternal love that Fly obeyM. Her eggs in Nature's lap she laid, And, moved by mother instinct, tried For her own offspring to provide. 10. Maternal Love, then, must we call Sole author of these mischiefs all ? If so (at least on moral ground Which some folks hold the only sound) Methinks 'tis easier (search and try them) To make laws than to justify them. ET (LETEKA ET (LETEKA. 193 LVIII. ET CETERA ET CETERA. 1. I saw a man die, miserably. Death With lips disdainful of such sorry fare (Like one who, sauntering thro' his orchard saith ' The fruit, tho' flyblown, that lies rotting there Must needs suffice me ') nibbled the remains Of life ; which long disease, with parching breath Had ravaged so, that Death was doubtful where To bite what look'd no longer worth his pains. Naught of the wretch was left but sores and brains. And nothing in this corpse-about-to-be Seem'd living yet but life's last beacons, two Bright feverish eyes, whence life defiantly So fierce was flashing, that Death, fain to know What meant their dumb defiance, render'd back VOL. II. N l:i| FABLES IN SONG. A moment's breath to 3e1 the man's lips free; As hunters on a dying fire do blow Fur light to guide them on their dubious track, Ere they tare onward thro 1 the midnight black. 3. Then, in Heath's question, the death-rattle cried " Long perishing I lived. On pain I fed. I had no children, and I had no bride, Like other men. But with Disease I wed, And this, mine own death-hour, on her begot. Yet all so well, against life's woes allied, My solitary sold, from heel to head, Was arm'd in patience, they subdued her not. What she hath wrought can neither rest nor rot. " For in me a sublime idea hath lived; In me, and on me. What was 1? Its food, And dwelling-house. I perish : but it thrived, And shall thrive. 1 have given it ilesh and blood. That flesh and blood is mine. My whole life long Was for the good of this idea contrived, And all mine ills have but increased its good. Non omnia moriar 1 I -till prolong My power in this, whose life mine own made strong. ET CETERA ET CETERA. 195 " For there it lives — in yonder leaves — complete ! Where yesterday these feverish fingers wrote The last word : not what crowns the closing sheet Of vulgar volumes with appropriate note : Not finis, my life's labour's last word was. Because I doubt not of my guerdon meet, Because the life, whereto did I devote Mine own life, here no mortal ending has, Therefore my last word is .eternitas. 6. " Yes ! mine idea shall live, bright, beauteous, glad. In me all's weak, but Avhere is weakness here 1 In me all's sorrow, here is nothing sad. Clouded my life was, but my thought is clear. The Spirit that thro' formless space did flit, Seeking fit form, its budding purpose clad In a child's brain, and breath'd in that child's ear ' Child, my thought chooseth for its servant fit, Live for it, labour, suffer, die for it ! ' " That child was I, and I obey'd. Alas, I lived to die. But, dying, I set free A life that's deathless. Into dust I pass Content, because the thought that lived in me 196 l'\l;l.i:s IN sum;. Lives and Bhal] live. 'Tis well My work La done. Finis for me : for it .kii.knitas ! " That was the man's last word. Bis work and he Are both forgotten. Underneath the sun Naught is eternal save < >blivion. 'O' 8. 1 iw a chrysalis. Tt hung beneath My lattice eaves. I watch'd with hopeful eye I'],,- l.iijlii > of that enihodied breath, The dead worm's destined beauteous butterlly. I tapp'd it, and there came a hollow Bound. In sleep's similitude, already Death Dreaming the birth of a new life did lie. 1 broke its shining shell. And there I found Another chrysalis within it bound, Bui swollen big, and just about to burst ; A second and surprising chrysalis, Whose growth had eaten hollow all the first, Which it would soon have shattered. What was this? The egg of an ichneumon : who, within The moth-grub's miserable frame, bad nurst 1 1 .1 bastard babe, and fed on borroVd bliss [j ■ being, buried in her victim's skin I'iei ]. foi that purpose, with a cloven pin. ET CETERA ET CETERA. 197 10. The first eruca, thus, the second fed. Sic vos non vobis ! The poor moth-grub pined. The young ichneumon in the moth-grub led A prosperous life. Upon the patron dined The client, well The moth-grub labour'd sore, And starved. The ichneumon lack'd not board or bed. The second flourish 'd as the first declined. The moth-grub died. The ichneumon lived the more, "Wanton and wing'd, and livelier than before. 11. Doubtless that moth-grub knew not its own state : Felt deep disquiet, and divined not why : Was proud, perchance, that in it something great Grew, and grew greater. Was it haunted by Ambitious dreams % Meanwhile with toil intense It must have labour'd, to emancipate The life within it. Thus, its enemy, And idol also in a certain sense, The poor fool fatten'd at its own expense. 12. And did it, when it wove its death-shroud, say (Poor worm, that ne'er a butterfly might be, Whose past was pincht, whose future filch'd away By that which lived within it !) even as he L98 FABLES IN BONG. Whom I Baw dying, did it say, "I p .My work remains. The spirit I obey, As fittest ou1 of thousands, iixt on me For that sublime idea whose slave I was. Finis for me : for it .kit.kmtas ! " l :;. Ah, ' iittest out of thousands ? ' Yet behold ! The ichneumon which upon this worm did prey Will find just such another worm to fold The egg it is its wont in worms to lay. And from that egg will soar another fly, Which, in its turn, will do as did the old. And thus et ccetera, et ccetera, Et ccetera, which, far as we can spy. Is also Latin for Eternity. 14. Patience hath of ichneumons pointed out As many as three hundred different kinds, All living on as many kinds, no doubt, ( If dilleivnt insects : as, on different minds, Differenl ideas. Brains, we must avow, The strongest, cannot jet per annum sprout Three hundred new Ideas ; and man finds The old ones troublesome. But troubles grow, And even the weakest brains breed notions now, ET CETERA ET CETERA. 199 15. Meanwhile, whenever I behold a man With burthen'd forehead, bald before his time, And visage, like a lamp at noontide, wan, Who thinks, by nourishing some thought sublime, To pay himself, in death, life's many pains ; And, having spent his strength in prose or rhyme On some idea which hath been the ban Of all his being, boasts " My work remains," I muse " What maggot hath he in his brains 1 " 200 I ABLES IN SONG. LIX. MONT M ENTUM MKE PEKENNIXJS. Two neighbours from each other claim'd a field, And neither of the two his claim would yield. Wild words between them pass'd. These nothing skiU'.l. Blows follow'd words ; and one of them was kill'd. The dead man's kinsfolk then together came, Sworn to do justice : and did just the same That is to say, they did a second time What, done the first time, they had judged a crime, And slew the slayer. From these deaths arose 'Twixt tribe and tribe long strife of living foes ; Who in the dead men's quarrel fought, until Which of the dead men did the other kill Was by their hostile progeny forgot; And neither side could quite remember what Each side was fighting for, tho' generations I'rolon^'d the conlliet, and at last two nations MONUMENTUM -ERE PEEEXXIUS. 201 In arms opposed each other. The sole aim And end of all snch conflicts is the same, Whether two peasants or two peoples fight : Each from the other strives to wrest the right ; Each on the other strives to wreak the wrong ; And each, as both the varying strife prolong, Is vanquisht or is victor, turn about. Eor, as " the whirligig of time " whirls out Alternate chances, is the vanquisht race Avenged on the victorious. In this case, Born of the conquer'd tribe, arose (men say) After long centuries had roll'd away, A conqueror : who, in half a hundred fights, The wrongs of his slain fathers to the rights Of their more fortunate sons converted; slew, And led to slaughter, thousands; but o'erthrew The overthrower, and to dust beat down A secular oppression. Tower and town Tumbled in smoky ashes, heaps of bones Pasht and in a bloody puddle, gasps and groans Of masht-up men, a mass of different deaths Mixt with a murmur of admiring breaths, Founded the first eternal monument "Which in men's memories made this last event Imperishable ; and, with gush of gore And glory from men's minds for evermore Wiped out the first, poor, perishable, mean Cause of the conflict, which thereby had been Crown'd with immortal claim upon the praise And retrospective pride of after days. FABLES IN sum;. To many a lyre by many a lyrist strung, About the land that hero's deeds were sung. And many a homely lay, from door to door, From sire to son, repeated o'er and o'er, Transmitted to a far posterity Traditions of his worth. But, rolling by, Time, in its unretentive current, brought New interests, new desires, to thrust from thought The rusted image of the Heroic Age; Whereof this monument remain'd to wage War with Oblivion. Vainly; till, by chance, Its mouldering record caught the fervid glance Of one who, haunted by a name forgot, Raked in old legends long remember'd not For glimpses of that name ; which, like a star Flashing mysterious splendour from afar, Brighten'd the abysmal past. Its fading beams This poet mingled with his own fresh dreams, And wrought therefrom, to renovate renown, A poem which the whole world for its own Claim'd and forthwith immortalised. Thereof (As, from the music of Amphion, rough With topless towers, arose in circuit strong The Theban ramparts raised by rolling song) A new eternal monument was made : Whose glory cast into oblivious shade (Or in its brighter self absorb'd anon) The lesser lustres of the former one. MONTJMENTTJM JEKE PEREXXIUS. 203 For, from this fresh eternal monument Gracing the threshold of an age, were sent Memnonian melodies and echoes far, Waked hy the radiance of the rising star Of a new art more beautiful than war. The old eternal monument, meanwhile, "Whereof naught rested but a ruin'd pile Of names and dates (mere useless rubbish reckon'd) Had furnish'd forth foundations for the second. 4. And all men deem'd the Poet's work to be More lasting than the Hero's. Pathless, he Who wTote the poem which, by men proclaim' d Immortal, made its mortal parent famed, Had died of want in some obscure small town. Men search'd, in vain, the empire up and down To find his birthplace ; and, not finding it, (Tho' many volumes were to help them writ, Each volume proving hopelessly absurd Whatever by the others was averr'd) The bafBed seekers by degrees began To shape the ideal image of the man Out of his song ; imagining a face And figure suited to his spirit's grace. The State, then, order'd that this image, cast In ever-during bronze, should be at last 204 FABLES IN BONG. Ejected in the imperial capital i Mi a tall pillar ; to 1"' SCCI1 of all W'lm there, throughout the ages, came ami went. This was the third eternal monument; Which all tlf previous monuments effaced. And the great poet's name, upon it traced, Was read by multitudes who read no more The old-fashion'd verses whence that name of yore Its immortality of fame received ; Which from Oblivion nothing new retrieved Save the bronze image, on whose marble base His name still figured, in the market place. G. Long while this third eternal monument Struggled with time, and the wild weathers bent On its destruction. Hut it felt their strength ; And, hit l>y hit, the rain and rust at length Wore out the graven words and sculptured frieze. The image, also, dwindled by degrees. One day the lightning struck it, and it fell. At Least, so saith the civic chronicle Which is our warrant (since we cannot show Proof more conclusive) fur believing now That such a statue once commemorated The birth (by modern critics much debated) MONUMEXTUM ^EEE PEEEXXIUS. 205 Of such a poet. Nowadays you see A brave soap-boiling manufactory Upon the spot where once that statue stood, Which made immortal, for the multitude That moved beneath it in the days gone by, The poet's unremember'd memory ; "Who sung the imperishable song ; that wrought Iienew'd eternity in human thought For that immortal hero's deathless name ; Whose perisht immortality of fame Rose from the reek of bloody towns ablaze, Even as the smoke that rises nowadays From yon tall chimney ; which yet marks the spot Where stood the statue men remember not. 7. These facts we have thought fitting to consign In the foregoing record, line by line, To the attention of posterity ; In order that we haply might thereby Save all these otherwise entirely lost Eternities ; which mutually cost Each other's ultimate annihilation. Nothing remains of them, but this narration. And, if this last must be forgotten too (Leaving no vestige to the future) who Will owe its author (the fourth time, alas !) ' A monument more durable than brass 1 ' FABLES IN BONG. LX. SANS SOUCI. PROLOGUE. Work ! But when can I work, pray, when ? At morn 1 I have not yet done my doze. At noon ? But too heavy the heat is then. At eve 1 But eve is the time for repose. At night 1 But at night I'm asleep again. Work I What is it? As I suppose, "l'is tin- vain invention of idle men ; Whom lie- I >' vil couhl help to no happier plan For getting thro' time, than this idiot trick Of adding fatigue to fatigue ; like a man Who carries his hoots at the end of a stick Slung behind him, to add to the heal And the weight on his hack ; as, with limping feet, Thro' the flints that fear, and the thorns thai prick, lie fans han footed, and hoasts he can With such bootless trouble get on so quick. SANS SOUCI. 207 If you chanced, as you wander'd, to meet with a brook Flowing among the mountains, say Would you hasten back to the house, and look For a bucket to fetch the water away Into the valley 1 Down from the hills Let the water flow as the water wills. When it gets to the valley at last, some day, There will it stay, unashamed 1 or say " To work ! to work ! " and begin with pain To run up the hills and back again ? Enough is doing around it. Why Should itself be doing aught 1 The sun Eeveals to it all that, up in the sky, The weather is going to do, or hath done. The moon will bathe in it by and by ; And the stars, that follow her one by one, Seek and discover it, Peeping thro' Clouds that flow over it, Changed in hue By winds that o'erhover it, Hid in the blue. Barks, too, along it From shore to shore Will wander, and throng it With sail and oar. Each bending double, With sweat o' the brow From toil and trouble, The rowers row, 208 FABLES IN SONG. But, how fast soever their oara may fall The water, which takes no trouble at all, Will still be the first to leap to shore. And, what is more, when the voyage is o'er, Will .-till be as tVesh as it was before. Lie on the hank, then ! idly lie Beside me, watching the wave How hy. And, if Fancy follow it, heed not why. Heed not why, and heed not where. Fancy will find in the summer air Whatever she seeks, for her home is there. Let us open our hearts to the summer sky. From mine I have let this fable tly. "Who knows where it may 'light? Not I. PART I. There were two hrothers. And each of the two Said to the father of hoth " Let us go Forth and away, Father, from thee. For the world is fair : and eager are w< To be living there, with a life set free." And the Father said to his sons " Do so." But, first (for a mighty magician was he) '• My miiis," he said, "the world La wide; "What in it attracts you most, decide, And then ask (ye shall get it) the gift of me Which host for the choice of you each may he.' SANS SOUCI. 209 And " Lord our Father," the sons replied, "Even so! and to each, as the choice, be the dower." Then he carried them up where, in all its pride, From the summit serene of a specular tower Might be descried upon every side The whole round world. And, opening at once The magazines of his manifold power, He said to them " Chuse, and use, my sons." The First made choice of a pair of legs. Stout flesh and blood, no wooden pegs ; But legs of muscle and sinew strong, That could do whatever a man's legs can. " And with these," quoth he, " will I get along," As he put them on and became a Man. The Second laid hold on a sturdy root, Pleased with its power of fixing fast ; Hid himself with it ; and, shoot by shoot, Became, tho' slowly, a Tree at last. The man in possession of that stout pair Of human legs, by the help of these Trod many a road, scaled many a stair, Climb'd the mountains, traversed the seas, Braved strange weathers, and breathed strange air, Learn'd new manners, new languages, Saw crowded cities, and deserts bare, Felt the dogstar burn, and the polestar freeze, Ransack' d earth for the far, the fair, And yet nowhere on earth could the man find ease. VOL. II. o 210 FABLES IX SONG. For, wherever he thoughl to have Bettled, there Something he noticed which fail'd to please, I >r Bomething he miss'd which had plea where. And the worse he fared the further he went. For comparison everywhere rain'd content. Those leg8 ran away with him : day hy day Wearing his life out ; and wearing away His hoots; which to mend, he was forced to Bpend, And, in order to spend, was forced to get, And, in order to get, to earn hy the sweat i if his brow, the gold which in getting and Bp ending The man wax'd old; still wearily wending That way thro' the world whereunto is no ending. PART II. Long tired .if that long way, he sank at last Worn out upon the wayside sod, beneath A mighty tree; whose branches o'er him cast Shade that was Bhelter, haunted by the breath i if bidden flowers. A rivulet flowM pasl From out-of-sight to out-of-sight ; and, flowing, < ' tll'd out calm Badness from the silence vast Wherein hot noon was glowing. Then did that old man feel thro' all his frame A creeping rest. His legs, whose strength was spent, l.ett him at last in peace ; and he became ( !areless and conscious of a vague content. SANS SOUCI. 211 But, while he follow'd with incurious gazes The streamlet flowing where aught pleased it best, That melancholy, which in man's soul raises Emotion born of rest, Drew from the old man's eyes another stream (Whose source was in his spirit) of sad tears. And, as some spot which only in a dream A man remembers, who forgets the years That made it long forgotten, so to him Eeturn'd a memory of that mystic minute When life's choice lay before him, with a dim Desire of action in it. " Alas !" he wept, " what wasted tears Are these which weep my wasteful years ! And all this while, what have I done But still from disappointment run To disappointment ? With what pain What mountains have I climb'd in vain ! What flesh and blood these feet have left On flinty peak, in thorny cleft ! How many a time these knees and shins Have suffer'd for their owner's sins ! How often, falling bruised and sore, With rage have I arisen once more, To stumble on, I know not where And know not how — such vagrants were These worn-out legs ! What have I gain'd, Who, leaving all, have naught attain'd, And naught have kept 1 I wonder how It fares with my lost brother now." 212 FABLES IN SONG. PART in. Then SOUnd that . Unwind, I'ollow'd sound Rippled the Leaves above him. Ami the branches, bending down to the ground, A canopied cradle wove him. A -till as a tired child that is taking Sweet rest on its mother's knee, The grey old man, neither sleeping nor waking, Lay under the green old tree. And was it brother speaking to brother? For he heard the tender tone Of a voice that seem'd not the voice of another, Thouirh he knew that it was not his own. 'B* It was sweeter than all other voices are. It was not like the voice of a man. It seem'd so near, and yet seem'd so far, And it spake as no other voice can. r.vnT iv. Softly it murmur' d "Dost thou know me not, My brother? I, the Forest, I am he, The one friend left thee in earth's one safe spot, Whose love, where'er thou wanderest, waits for thee ; SANS SOUCI. 213 " Outlasting all things for the loss of which That love is consolation : gold misspent, Youth wasted, hope impoverisht, to make rich The thankless avarice of discontent. " Love faithful, love unchangeable, and fast As is the root whereby 'tis fixt and fed ! Vainly the world, wherein no root thou hast, Thou wanderest seeking what, when found, is fled. " And think'st thou I am solitary 1 Thou It is who art a wandering solitude. For from thy life away thy life doth flow, And, self-pursuing, thou art self-pursued. " 'Not here,' thou sigh'st, ' I live, for life is there.' Yet, hadst thou waited, life had come to thee, Who, seeking life, hast miss'd it everywhere ; Whilst here, where rest is mine, life sends to me " Momently messengers, that know the way To find me, from the world's four corners come. The winds, and clouds, and stars of heaven, are they, And the sweet birds that to my heart fly home. " Count me the emmets that go up and down My creviced bark. Know'st thou what myriads move In any blade of grass o'er which is thrown The shadow of my power and of my love 1 2] 1 FABLES IN BONG. •• What lurks and crouches under any stone That nestles at my feet I What builds and breeds In my Least berry? <>r what deeds are done Even by my least distinguishable seeds? "The Tire stands steadfast, contemplating all. Tree-truni from tree-trunk earth holds safe and single : But, weaving one etherial coronal, Tree-top, in heaven, doth with tree-top mingle. ■■ What buoyant bridges, which the squirrel knows, How airy light, how delicately wrought, The elm-tree to his heechen brethren throws, Where branch with branch is mixt, as thought with thought ! o ■• All this the Tree hath of the root he hath. For whoso hath no root, no life hath he. Xo path leads to him. And by every path He from himself must needs a wanderer be." PABT V. Whilst thus the mystic voice yet spoke. 11 usher sounds thro' the forest broke. And men came thro' it, and men came near, With shoulder'd axe. " What do ye here SANS SOUCI. 215 Intruders 1 " — " Ho ! we Lew down wood. Idler, make way for Work ! " They stood Under the tree ; and the axe was laid To the root thereof ; and the tall tree sway'd To and fro, and then crash'd to the ground. The old man, stunn'd (but not by the sound) About him gazed with bewilder'd eye Over the alter'd earth and sky, And "What is it," he nioan'd, "that is broken in me?" As he follow'd his brother, the fallen tree. Follow'd the tree to the timber-yard : Learn'd the craft of the carpenter : Plied hammer and saw, and labour'd hard, Laid plank upon plank, join'd oak to fir, Till the stately vessel slid from the slips, Slid from the land, and slid into the sea. There, with those new-gotten wings of hers, To wander the waters — a ship among ships, "Who no longer a tree among trees might be, And (a mariner, there, among mariners) With the rest of the good ship's crew went he, The man, not able to leave the tree. 216 FABLES IN BONG. I' A U T V I. ( in the Bidele88 Beas, in the middle hour t tf the savage and measureless night ; when stars By curdling clouds were quench'd, and a shower Of stormy Bleet thro' shrouds and spars Shriek'd ; ami tin' grieved ship seem'd to cower 1'nder night's weight, as wild she ran Across the cruel grey waves ; the man Lean'd his ear to the tree (which fast Stood over lam still, a mighty mast) For the wood, with an inward moan, hegan To writhe and heave : till there came at last A thunderous buffel of wave and wind That shatter'd the ship. And, swept by the blast Into tin' murtherous midnight, blind With madden'd weather, clinging together, O'er tlif headlong sea the man and the tree Drifted to shore on a deseri Lsle. Tie' ship and the crew had perishl meanwhile. Mia tie- man was alive : and the tree (twice dead) Which ha>l saved him, still protected him. For Hi" part thereof, t" Bhelter his head, A roni'he wrought ; and each dripping limh lit- dried and warm'd at the lire he made ( >f the rest of the w 1. And when morning rose Over the reefs, with ravage spread, SANS SOUCI. 217 As tho' on a world all newly made, And smiling, safe from its last birth-throes, In freshness, sweetness, light, and repose, The man, left lone in the desert, said " Oh what a release ! to be left in peace By all that trouble of tiller and tackle, The captain's cries, and the shipmen's cackle ! Each rope and sail, and yard and shroud, That, in calm or gale, no quiet allow'd, But must ever be shifted that way and this For fear of shipwreck ; which, all the same, In spite of our trouble and caution came. And oh how delicious the freedom is From all care henceforth of the cargo that's gone, Or the ship, that is sunk, or the voyage, that's done ! " PART VII. Years, long afterwards, mariners, driven By stress of weather, touch'd on that isle, "Where their ship had found a natural haven Hidden from howling storms. And while The desert, in search of springs, they roved, In the desert they found a fallen pile Of spars and planks ; whose structure proved That a human hand had fashion'd and hewn That pile, long since by the sea- winds strewn. FABLES IN SONG. And, under the ruins which once were a hut fe from the ruinirj bids shut ) A dead man lay. And the dead man's face \>\ wore, in its features worn, that trace Which a life in the waste cannot all efface ' if a lilr once lived in busier lands. The mariners buried with pious hands That dead man's dust in the desert sands. And, Bince they found two spars of a tree Which noue of the island trees could be I 'arts they seem'd of a broken mast, Eaply to shore with the dead man cast) They set them, crosswise, above the grave Of their fellow-creature ; in sign of the faith Which, finding hut death in life, men have Thai man's spiral is made for a life in death. It was the lasl protection that the tree Could give the man, his brother. And ah, if helpless that protection be, What help ill any other 1 ? END OF THE SECOND \"l I PRIXTED r.V WIU.IAM l'l.MK". . BDIKB1 I a 5 j i 4 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below S0m-1, UNIVERSITY OF OAUKOKNIA AT LOS ANGKLKS LIBRARY ..^SOUTHERN 367 075 9 PP 4954 Fll 1874 v.2