Read Ebook: Literary Fables of Yriarte by Iriarte Tom S De Devereux George H George Humphrey Translator

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Ebook has 377 lines and 27333 words, and 8 pages

"Curs, hey! Then so Is my grandmother! You do not know The one from t' other."

"Stupid! they 're naught But mongrel cur."-- "They're hounds, I say."-- "They're curs, good sir."

While they dispute The dogs arrive; And both of them Eat up alive.

Ye who, important Matters scorning, Toy with trifles, Take our warning.

THE EGGS.

Beyond the sunny Philippines An island lies, whose name I do not know; But that's of little consequence, if so You understand that there they had no hens; Till, by a happy chance, a traveller, After a while, carried some poultry there. Fast they increased as any one could wish; Until fresh eggs became the common dish. But all the natives ate them boiled,--they say,-- Because the stranger taught no other way. At last the experiment by one was tried-- Sagacious man!--of having his eggs fried. And, O! what boundless honors, for his pains, His fruitful and inventive fancy gains! Another, now, to have them baked devised,-- Most happy thought!--and still another, spiced. Who ever thought eggs were so delicate! Next, some one gave his friends an omelette: "Ah!" all exclaimed, "what an ingenious feat!"

Successive cooks thus proved their skill diverse; But how shall I be able to rehearse All of the new, delicious condiments That luxury, from time to time, invents? Soft, hard and dropped; and now with sugar sweet, And now boiled up with milk, the eggs they eat; In sherbet, in preserves; at last they tickle Their palates fanciful with eggs in pickle. All had their day--the last was still the best. But a grave senior thus, one day, addressed The epicures: "Boast, ninnies, if you will, These countless prodigies of gastric skill-- But blessings on the man who brought the hens!"

Beyond the sunny Philippines Our crowd of modern authors need not go New-fangled modes of cooking eggs to show.

THE DUCK AND THE SNAKE.

On the borders of a pond Stood a Duck, discoursing thus: "Nature to me is generous All creatures else beyond.

For my life, it hath no bound Water, earth or air within; I can fly or I can swim, When a-weary of the ground."

A cunning Snake stood by. And heard the vaunting strain; And hissing said, "How vain To hold yourself so high!

Not on land with the fleet Stag, Or swift Falcon in the air, Can you make good your brag: In the water, too, the Trout Will beat you out and out: You with neither can compare."

The wise man knoweth well, That it is not wisdom's end In all things to pretend,-- But in something to excel.

THE MUFF, THE FAN, AND THE UMBRELLA.

If some absurd presumption show-- In seeking everything to know, To serve but for a single use May also be without excuse.

Upon a table, once, together lay A Muff, Umbrella, and a Fan. In dialect such as, in a former day, The Pot unto the Kettle spoke. The Umbrella silence broke, And to his two companions thus began:

"Now pretty articles are not ye both! You, Muff, in winter serve your purpose well; But, when spring comes about, in idle sloth In a dark corner must forgotten dwell. You, Fan, an useless thing become, in turn, When heat declines in summer's glowing urn,

And cold winds take your office quite away. Learn now, from me, a broader part to play. To shield the head from rains of wintry skies, I, as Umbrella, serve the turn; Again, like praise I earn When summer's ardent rays the Parasol defies."

THE FROG AND THE TADPOLE.

On Tagus' banks, in artless wonder, A little Tadpole, on a canebrake gazing, Long with its mother chatted of the leaves, Of the huge stalks, and verdure so amazing; But now the air with the fierce tempest heaves, And the rough winds the canebrake rent asunder-- A broken cane into the stream fell over; "Come, look, my child," now said the thoughtful mother, "Without, so strong, luxuriant and smooth-- Within, all pith and emptiness, forsooth!"

If our good Frog some poets' works had read, Perchance, of them she might the same have said.

THE BUSTARD.

The sluggish Bustard, in her foolish pate, Vexed with her young ones' awkward flight, Purposed to raise a brood more light, Even though 't were illegitimate.

For this end many an egg she stole From Partridge, Pigeon and the Kite, And sundry birds of easy flight; And in her nest mixed up the whole.

Long while and patiently she sat upon them; Though some proved addled, yet, in time, the rest With a fine brood of nurslings filled the nest; And many a kind, of course, was found among them.

A host of birds collects, at her request, To admire her progeny, so rare and new; But each away with his own offspring flew, And left poor Bustard with an empty nest.

Ye, who the ideas of other men brood over,-- Bring out your fledglings. Let us see them fly! Then, "This, and this is mine," resounds the cry How much belongs to you, we'll soon discover.

THE LINNET AND THE SWAN.

"Keep silence, noisy little one," Unto a Linnet said the Swan. "It almost tempts myself to sing; although No voice, our feathered tribes among, Compares with mine in melody, you know."

"Would you might sing!" replied the little bird; "With boundless curiosity we all-- All other voice by silent wonder shackled-- Should listen to that harmony divine, Which boasts far greater fame than mine; Though none of us, as yet, hath ever heard." Kashly the Swan essayed--but only cackled.

Not strange, that empty reputation, Without, or skill or genius, at foundation, Should, upon trial, cheat the expectation!

THE HACK MULE.

Full fed and antic, A Hack Mule pushed With speed so frantic Forth from her stable, That her rider Scarcely was able With rein to guide her. Half our journey Not long will bide her In such a race. But the false jade Now slacks her pace. What trouble now? Go on! Perhaps The spur will do. What, no? Then taps Of this light rod Or harder raps From pointed goad. Both are, I find, In vain bestowed. How! out of wind! With ready heels She kicks behind, And bites and squeals. What a curvette! She jumps and reels. You devil's pet, With hand and foot We'll try you yet. Upon her belly Down she flounders,-- Here sprawling flat. A murrain foul Seize on your soul! Amen to that!

The Mule, that work begins With such capers, Is not the mule for me; And, whene'er I see That any author vapors Too much of his intent,-- At once, I say, "Beware! Good friend, pray have a care Of this mule's predicament."

THE GOAT AND THE HORSE.

A Goat, in mute delight, To the sweet echoes of a violin, Harmonious, long stood listening; His feet, the while, in sympathetic measure, Danced all unconsciously for pleasure. And, to an honest Nag, who, in like mood Absorbed, forgot his food, These words he spoke:

"Now, of these strings you hear the harmony, Know that they are the entrails of a Goat, Who pastured, in times past, with me. And, for myself, I trust some future time-- Blest thought!--such sonorous strains may rise from mine."

The good Hack turned himself, and answered thus: "Never are heard these sounds harmonious, Except, across the strings concordant, sweep The hairs that from my tail were drawn. My fright is over and the pain is gone; And, as reward, I now the pleasure reap Of seeing, for myself, the honors paid To the sweet instrument, through my own aid. For you, who hope like pleasure to derive,-- When shall you taste it? Not while you're alive.

Just so, in vain a wretched writer tries, Throughout his life, to gain celebrity; To better judgment of posterity He leaves his work, and, thus consoled, he dies.

THE BEE AND THE CUCKOO.

"Stop, Cuckoo," said the Bee; "With my labor interferes That unpleasant voice of thine, Always ringing in my ears.

There is no bird, in song, So monotonous as thou. It is cuckoo all day long, And nothing but cuckoo!"

"Wearies you, my monotone?" The Cuckoo straight rejoined; "So, too, one shape alone, In thy waxen cells, I find.

If, in the self-same way, You make a hundred as each one; If I nothing new can say, Nothing new by you is done."

This was the Bee's reply: "A work of usefulness May lack variety, And be valued none the less.

But in a work designed To gratify the taste, If we no invention find, Aught else is tedious waste."

THE RAT AND THE CAT.

At telling of rabies old Esop was grand; With his subtile invention, his wisdom so great. And a story of his, as I have it at hand, Into our own language I now will translate.

"It is plain," said a Rat, at the mouth of his hole, "No distinction more lovely and noble is found Than fidelity. Therefore it is, on my soul, I love and respect the generous Hound."

A Cat answered, hard by: "This quality fine I assure you is also a merit of mine."-- "Ah! what's that?" said the Rat, as, in terrible fright He sprang to his hole, and, when safe out of sight, Just poking his nose out, he coolly did call: "You boast of it, hey? I don't like it at all."

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