Part 17 (1/2)

Each censured by the rest, himself content, Back to their homes all living things were sent.

_Such folly liveth yet with human fools._ _For others lynxes, for ourselves but moles._ _Great blemishes in other men we spy,_ _Which in ourselves we pa.s.s most kindly by._ _As in this world we're but way-farers,_ _Kind Heaven has made us wallet-bearers._ _The pouch behind our own defects must store,_ _The faults of others lodge in that before._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WALLET.]

The Woodman and Mercury.

A man that labour'd in the wood Had lost his honest livelihood; That is to say, His axe was gone astray.

He had no tools to spare; This wholly earn'd his fare.

Without a hope beside, He sat him down and cried, ”Alas, my axe! where can it be?

O Jove! but send it back to me, And it shall strike good blows for thee.”

His prayer in high Olympus heard, Swift Mercury started at the word.

”Your axe must not be lost,” said he: ”Now, will you know it when you see?

An axe I found upon the road.”

With that an axe of gold he show'd.

”Is't this?” The woodman answer'd, ”Nay.”

An axe of silver, bright and gay, Refused the honest woodman too.

At last the finder brought to view An axe of iron, steel, and wood.

”That's mine,” he said, in joyful mood; ”With that I'll quite contented be.”

The G.o.d replied, ”I give the three, As due reward of honesty.”

This luck when neighbouring choppers knew, They lost their axes, not a few, And sent their prayers to Jupiter So fast, he knew not which to hear.

His winged son, however, sent With gold and silver axes, went.

Each would have thought himself a fool Not to have own'd the richest tool.

But Mercury promptly gave, instead Of it, a blow upon the head.

_With simple truth to be contented,_ _Is surest not to be repented;_ _But still there are who would_ _With evil trap the good,--_ _Whose cunning is but stupid,_ _For Jove is never duped._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WOODMAN AND MERCURY.]

The Lion and the Monkey.

The lion, for his kingdom's sake, In morals would some lessons take, And therefore call'd, one summer's day, The monkey, master of the arts, An animal of brilliant parts, To hear what he could say.

”Great king,” the monkey thus began, ”To reign upon the wisest plan Requires a prince to set his zeal, And pa.s.sion for the public weal, Distinctly and quite high above A certain feeling call'd self-love, The parent of all vices, In creatures of all sizes.

To will this feeling from one's breast away, Is not the easy labour of a day; By that your majesty august, Will execute your royal trust, From folly free and aught unjust.”

”Give me,” replied the king, ”Example of each thing.”

”Each species,” said the sage,-- ”And I begin with ours,-- Exalts its own peculiar powers Above sound reason's gauge.

Meanwhile, all other kinds and tribes As fools and blockheads it describes, With other compliments as cheap.

But, on the other hand, the same Self-love inspires a beast to heap The highest pyramid of fame For every one that bears his name; Because he justly deems such praise The easiest way himself to raise.

'Tis my conclusion in the case, That many a talent here below Is but cabal, or sheer grimace,-- The art of seeming things to know-- An art in which perfection lies More with the ignorant than wise.”