4.
"I grant thy fame in former years,"
The linnet answer'd; but, as thou
Art never heard by modern ears,
Thy song is deem'd a fiction now,
And, like the music of the spheres,
A tale which moderns disallow.
5
But give me, sweet one, I beseech,
A sample of that olden lay."
The swan, too flatter'd by the speech,
To answer with a churlish nay,
Began to sing—but gave a screech:
The linnet laugh'd, and flew away.
6
Thus many a coxcomb, with a name
For talents which he ne'er possess'd
On turning author finds his fame
Unequal to the trying test,
And like the swan, exposed to shame,
Becomes a byword and a jest.
X. THE MOUSE AND THE CAT.
What modern fables can compare with those
Of Esop, whose sublime invention chose
The noblest incidents for each, and then
Express'd them in inimitable prose!
Well, since I want a subject for my pen,
And have his book at hand, I'll even choose
A fable from him, and request the muse
To hitch it into good Castilian rhymes;
For I am sure that, merely for its merit,
The tasteful reader will at once prefer it
To any apologue of modern times.
A mouse one evening, as it stole
In quest of plunder from its hole,
Exclaim'd aloud (for mice could speak
Of yore, though now they only squeak),
"What virtue is more lovely than
Fidelity in brute or man?
The dog, who guards his master's store
And drives the robber from the door,
Deserves the praise of every mouse
That has an interest in the house!"
A cat replied, "Thy praise should be
Bestow'd as readily on me;
For like the dog, and with a Zeal
As watchful for my master's weal,
Throughout the night I keep aloof
A host of robbers from his roof,
And guard from thee and thine the hoard
Of dainties that should crown his board."
On this the mouse withdrew again
Into its hole, and answered then,
"Henceforth, since thou art faithful, mince
'Tis ever thus—for we commend
The smallest virtue in a friend;
While in a foe we should abhor it,
What think you, honest reader? Is not this
A clever little fable? "Oh! divine!
'Tis quite in Esop's style, and only his;
You see his mighty mind in every line."
Nay, courteous reader, check your praise awhile;
The fable is, in fact, my own, and written
Precisely in my customary style.
"The deuce it is! then I am fairly bitten."
And, dear discerning reader, now that I
Have own'd it and you know it to be mine,
Your better judgment will, of course, decry
The trifle you once deem'd so very fine.
XI. THE TWO RABBITS.
1.
With a ravenous pack of dogs at his back,
A rabbit fled—or flew,
For his course was as fleet as if his four feet
—Were wing'd, like Mercury's two.
