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Parables

Joy from that in type we borrow.

Which in life gives only sorrow.

EXPLANATION OF AN ANTIQUE GEM.

- A YOUNG fig tree its form lifts high
- Within a beauteous garden;
- And see, a goat is sitting by,
- As if he were its warden.
- But O Quirites, how one errs!
- The tree is guarded badly;
- For round the other side there whirrs
- And hums a beetle madly.
- The hero with his well-mail’d coat
- Nibbles the branches tall so;
- A mighty longing feels the goat
- Gently to climb up also.
- And so, my friends, ere long ye see
- The tree all leafless standing;
- It looks a type of misery,
- Help of the gods demanding.
- Then listen, ye ingenuous youth,
- Who hold wise saws respected:
- From he-goat and from beetle’s tooth
- A tree should be protected!

CAT-PIE.

- WHILE he is mark’d by vision clear
- Who fathoms Nature’s treasures,
- The man may follow, void of fear,
- Who her proportions measures.
- Though for one mortal, it is true,
- These trades may both be fitted,
- Yet, that the things themselves are two
- Must always be admitted.
- Once on a time there liv’d a cook
- Whose skill was past disputing,
- Who in his head a fancy took
- To try his luck at shooting.
- So, gun in hand, he sought a spot
- Where stores of game were breeding,
- And there ere long a cat he shot
- That on young birds was feeding.
- This cat he fancied was a hare,
- Forming a judgment hasty,
- So serv’d it up for people’s fare,
- Well-spic’d, and in a pasty.
- Yet many a guest with wrath was fill’d
- (All who had noses tender):
- The cat that’s by the sportsman kill’d
- No cook a hare can render.

LEGEND.

THERE liv’d in the desert a holy man
To whom a goat-footed Faun one day
Paid a visit, and thus began
To his surprise: “I entreat thee to pray
That grace to me and my friends may be given,
That we may be able to mount to heaven,
For great is our thirst for heav’nly bliss.”
The holy man made answer to this:
“Much danger is lurking in thy petition,
Nor will it be easy to gain admission;
Thou dost not come with an angel’s salute;
For I see thou wearest a cloven foot.”
The wild man paus’d, and then answer’d he:
“What doth my goat’s foot matter to thee?
Full many I’ve known into heaven to pass
Straight and with ease, with the head of an ass!”

THE CRITIC.

I HAD a fellow as my guest,
Not knowing he was such a pest,
And gave him just my usual fare;
He ate his fill of what was there,
And for desert my best things swallow’d;
Soon as his meal was o’er, what follow’d?
Led by the Deuce to a neighbor he went,
And talk’d of my food to his heart’s content:
“The soup might surely have had more spice,
The meat was ill-brown’d, and the wine wasn’t nice.”
A thousand curses alight on his head!
’Tis a critic, I vow! Let the dog be struck dead!

AUTHORS.

- OVER the meadows, and down the stream,
- And through the garden-walks straying,
- He plucks the flowers that fairest seem;
- His throbbing heart brooks no delaying.
- His maiden then comes—oh, what ecstasy!
- Thy flowers thou giv’st for one glance of her eye!
- The gard’ner next door o’er the hedge sees the youth:
- “I’m not such a fool as that, in good truth;
- My pleasure is ever to cherish each flower,
- And see that no birds my fruit e’er devour.
- But when ’tis ripe, your money, good neighbor!
- ’Twas not for nothing I took all this labor!”
- And such, methinks, are the author-tribe.
- The one his pleasures around him strews,
- That his friends, the public, may reap, if they choose:
- The other would fain make them all subscribe.

THE DILETTANTE AND THE CRITIC.

- A BOY a pigeon once possess’d,
- In gay and brilliant plumage dress’d;
- He lov’d it well, and in boyish sport
- Its food to take from his mouth he taught,
- And in his pigeon he took such pride,
- That his joy to others he needs must confide.
- An aged fox near the place chanc’d to dwell,
- Talkative, clever, and learned as well;
- The boy his society used to prize,
- Hearing with pleasure his wonders and lies.
- “My friend the fox my pigeon must see!”
- He ran, and stretch’d ’mongst the bushes lay he.
- “Look, fox, at my pigeon, my pigeon so fair!
- His equal I’m sure thou hast look’d upon ne’er!”
- “Let’s see!”—The boy gave it.—“’Tis really not bad;
- And yet, it is far from complete, I must add.
- The feathers, for instance, how short! ’Tis absurd!”
- So he set to work straightway to pluck the poor bird.
- The boy scream’d.—“Thou must now stronger pinions supply,
- Or else ’twill be ugly, unable to fly.”—
- Soon ’twas stripp’d—oh, the villain!—and torn all to pieces,
- The boy was heart-broken,—and so my tale ceases.
- * * * * *
- He who sees in the boy shadow’d forth his own case
- Should be on his guard ’gainst the fox’s whole race.

CELEBRITY.

- ON bridges small and bridges great
- Stand Nepomuks in ev’ry state,
- Of bronze, wood, painted, or of stone,
- Some small as dolls, some giants grown;
- Each passer must worship before Nepomuk,
- Who to die on a bridge chanc’d to have the ill luck.
- When once a man with head and ears
- A saint in people’s eyes appears,
- Or has been sentenced piteously
- Beneath the hangman’s hand to die,
- He’s as a noted person priz’d,
- In portrait is immortaliz’d.
- Engravings, woodcuts, are supplied,
- And through the world spread far and wide.
- Upon them all is seen his name,
- And ev’ry one admits his claim;
- Even the image of the Lord
- Is not with greater zeal ador’d.
- Strange fancy of the human race!
- Half sinner frail, half child of grace
- We see Herr Werther of the story
- In all the pomp of woodcut glory.
- His worth is first made duly known
- By having his sad features shown
- At ev’ry fair the country round;
- In ev’ry alehouse too they’re found.
- His stick is pointed by each dunce:
- “The ball would reach his brain at once!”
- And each says, o’er his beer and bread:
- “Thank Heav’n that ’tis not we are dead!”

THE YELPERS.

- OUR rides in all directions bend,
- For business or for pleasure,
- Yet yelpings on our steps attend,
- And barkings without measure.
- The dog that in our stable dwells,
- After our heels is striding,
- And all the while his noisy yells
- But show that we are riding.

THE WRANGLER.

- ONE day a shameless and impudent wight
- Went into a shop full of steel wares bright,
- Arrang’d with art upon ev’ry shelf.
- He fancied they all were meant for himself;
- And so, while the patient owner stood by,
- The shining goods needs must handle and try,
- And valued,—for how should a fool better know?—
- The bad things high, and the good ones low,
- And all with an easy self-satisfied face;
- Then, having bought nothing, he left the place.
- The tradesman now felt sorely vex’d,
- So when the fellow went there next,
- A lock of steel made quite red hot.
- The other cried upon the spot:
- “Such wares as these, who’d ever buy?
- The steel is tarnish’d shamefully;”—
- Then pull’d it like a fool about,
- But soon set up a piteous shout,
- “Pray, what’s the matter?” the shopman spoke;
- The other scream’d: “Faith, a very cool joke!”

JOY.

- A DRAGON-FLY with beauteous wing
- Is hov’ring o’er a silv’ry spring;
- I watch its motions with delight,—
- Now dark its colors seem, now bright;
- Chameleon-like appear now blue,
- Now red, and now of greenish hue.
- Would it would come still nearer me,
- That I its tints might better see!
- It hovers, flutters, resting ne’er!
- But hush! it settles on the mead.
- I have it safe now, I declare!
- And when its form I closely view,
- ’Tis of a sad and dingy blue—
- Such, Joy-Dissector, is thy case indeed!

PLAYING AT PRIESTS.

- WITHIN a town where parity
- According to old form we see,—
- That is to say, where Catholic
- And Protestant no quarrels pick,
- And where, as in his father’s day,
- Each worships God in his own way,
- We Luth’ran children used to dwell,
- By songs and sermons taught us well.
- The Catholic clingclang in truth
- Sounded more pleasing to our youth,
- For all that we encounter’d there
- To us seem’d varied, joyous, fair.
- As children, monkeys, and mankind
- To ape each other are inclin’d,
- We soon, the time to while away,
- A game at priests resolv’d to play.
- Their aprons all our sisters lent
- For copes, which gave us great content;
- And handkerchiefs, embroider’d o’er,
- Instead of stoles we also wore;
- Gold paper, whereon beasts were trac’d,
- The bishop’s brow as mitre grac’d.
- Through house and garden thus in state
- We strutted early, strutted late,
- Repeating with all proper unction,
- Incessantly each holy function.
- The best was wanting to the game;
- We knew that a sonorous ring
- Was here a most important thing;
- But Fortune to our rescue came,
- For on the ground a halter lay;
- We were delighted, and at once
- Made it a bellrope for the nonce,
- And kept it moving all the day;
- In turns each sister and each brother
- Acted as sexton to another;
- All help’d to swell the joyous throng;
- The whole proceeded swimmingly,
- And since no actual bell had we,
- We all in chorus sang, Ding dong!
- Our guileless child’s-sport long was hush’d
- In memory’s tomb, like some old lay;
- And yet across my mind it rush’d
- With pristine force the other day.
- The New-Poetic Catholics
- In ev’ry point its aptness fix!

SONGS.

- SONGS are like painted window-panes!
- In darkness wrapp’d the church remains,
- If from the market-place we view it;
- Thus sees the ignoramus through it.
- No wonder that he deems it tame,—
- And all his life ’twill be the same.
- But let us now inside repair,
- And greet the holy Chapel there!
- At once the whole seems clear and bright,
- Each ornament is bath’d in light,
- And fraught with meaning to the sight.
- God’s children! thus your fortune prize,
- Be edified, and feast your eyes!

POETRY.

GOD to his untaught children sent
Law, order, knowledge, art, from high,
And ev’ry heav’nly favor lent,
The world’s hard lot to qualify.
They knew not how they should behave,
For all from Heav’n stark-naked came;
But Poetry their garments gave,
And then not one had cause for shame.

A PARABLE.

I PICK’D a rustic nosegay lately,
And bore it homewards, musing greatly;
When, heated by my hand, I found
The heads all drooping tow’rd the ground
I plac’d them in a well-cool’d glass,
And what a wonder came to pass!
The heads soon rais’d themselves once more,
The stalks were blooming as before,
And all were in as good a case
As when they left their native place.
* * * * *
So felt I, when I wond’ring heard
My song to foreign tongues transferr’d.

CUPID AND PSYCHE.

A PLAN the Muses entertain’d
Methodically to impart
To Psyche the poetic art;
Prosaic-pure her soul remain’d.
No wondrous sounds escap’d her lyre
E’en in the fairest Summer night;
But Amor came with glance of fire,—
The lesson soon was learn’d aright.

THE DEATH OF THE FLY.

WITH eagerness he drinks the treach’rous potion,
Nor stops to rest, by the first taste misled;
Sweet is the draught, but soon all power of motion
He finds has from his tender members fled;
No longer has he strength to plume his wing,
No longer strength to raise his head, poor thing!
E’en in enjoyment’s hour his life he loses,
His little foot to bear his weight refuses;
So on he sips, and ere his draught is o’er,
Death veils his thousand eyes for evermore.

BY THE RIVER.

- WHEN by the broad stream thou dost dwell,
- Oft shallow is its sluggish flood;
- Then, when thy fields thou tendest well,
- It o’er them spreads its slime and mud.
- The ships descend ere daylight wanes,
- The prudent fisher upward goes;
- Round reef and rock ice casts its chains,
- And boys at will the pathway close.
- To this attend, then, carefully,
- And what thou would’st, that execute!
- Ne’er linger, ne’er o’erhasty be,
- For time moves on with measur’d foot.

THE FOX AND CRANE.

- ONCE two persons uninvited
- Came to join my dinner table;
- For the nonce they liv’d united,
- Fox and crane yclept in fable.
- Civil greetings pass’d between us;
- Then I pluck’d some pigeons tender
- For the fox of jackal genus,
- Adding grapes in full-grown splendor.
- Long-neck’d flasks I put as dishes
- For the crane, without delaying,
- Fill’d with gold and silver fishes,
- In the limpid water playing.
- Had ye witness’d Reynard planted
- At his flat plate, all demurely,
- Ye with envy must have granted:
- “Ne’er was such a gourmand, surely!”
- While the bird with circumspection
- On one foot, as usual, cradled,
- From the flasks his fish-refection
- With his bill and long neck ladled.
- One the pigeons prais’d,—the other,
- As they went, extoll’d the fishes,
- Each one scoffing at his brother
- For preferring vulgar dishes.
- * * * * *
- If thou would’st preserve thy credit,
- When thou askest folks to guzzle
- At thy board, take care to spread it
- Suited both for bill and muzzle.

THE FOX AND HUNTSMAN.

- HARD ’tis on a fox’s traces
- To arrive, midst forest-glades;
- Hopeless utterly the chase is,
- If his flight the huntsman aids.
- And so ’tis with many a wonder
- (Why A B make Ab in fact),
- Over which we gape and blunder,
- And our head and brains distract.

THE STORK’S VOCATION.

- THE stork who worms and frogs devours
- That in our ponds reside,
- Why should he dwell on high church-towers,
- With which he’s not allied?
- Incessantly he chatters there,
- And gives our ears no rest;
- But neither old nor young can dare
- To drive him from his nest.
- I humbly ask if,—how can he
- Give of his title proof,
- Save by his happy tendency
- To soil the church’s roof?

THE FROGS.

- A POOL was once congeal’d with frost;
- The frogs, in its deep waters lost,
- No longer dar’d to croak or spring;
- But promis’d, being half asleep,
- If suffer’d to the air to creep,
- As very nightingales to sing.
- A thaw dissolv’d the ice so strong,—
- They proudly steer’d themselves along,
- When landed, squatted on the shore,
- And croak’d as loudly as before.

THE WEDDING.

A FEAST was in a village spread,—
It was a wedding-day, they said.
The parlor of the inn I found,
And saw the couples whirling round,
Each lass attended by her lad,
And all seem’d loving, blithe and glad;
But on my asking for the bride,
A fellow with a stare replied:
“ ’Tis not the place that point to raise!
We’re only dancing in her honor;
We now have danc’d three nights and days,
And not bestow’d one thought upon her.”
* * * * *
Whoe’er in life employs his eyes
Such cases oft will recognize.

BURIAL.

TO the grave one day from a house they bore A maiden;
To the window the citizens went to explore;
In splendor they liv’d, and with wealth as of yore
Their banquets were laden.
Then thought they: “The maid to the tomb is now borne;
We too from our dwellings ere long must be torn,
And he that is left our departure to mourn,
To our riches will be the successor,
For some one must be their possessor.”

THREATENING SIGNS.

- IF Venus in the evening sky
- Is seen in radiant majesty,
- If rod-like comets, red as blood,
- Are ’mongst the constellations view’d,
- Out springs the Ignoramus, yelling:
- “The star’s exactly o’er my dwelling!
- What woful prospect, ah, for me!”—
- Then calls his neighbor mournfully:
- “Behold that awful sign of evil,
- Portending woe to me, poor devil!
- My mother’s asthma ne’er will leave her,
- My child is sick with wind and fever;
- I dread the illness of my wife,
- A week has pass’d devoid of strife,—
- And other things have reach’d my ear;
- The Judgment-day has come, I fear!”
- His neighbor answers: “Friend, you’re right!
- Matters look very bad to-night.
- Let’s go a street or two, though, hence,
- And gaze upon the stars from thence.”—
- No change appears in either case.
- Let each remain then in his place,
- And wisely do the best he can,
- Patient as any other man.

THE BUYERS.

TO an apple-woman’s stall
Once some children nimbly ran;
Longing much to purchase all,
They with joyous haste began
Snatching up the piles there rais’d,
While with eager eyes they gaz’d
On the rosy fruit so nice;
But when they found out the price,
Down they threw the whole they’d got,
Just as if they were red-hot.
* * * * *
The man who gratis will his goods supply
Will never find a lack of folks to buy!

THE MOUNTAIN VILLAGE.

- “THE mountain village was destroy’d;
- But see how soon is fill’d the void!
- Shingles and boards, as by magic arise,
- The babe in his cradle and swaddling-clothes lies;
- How bless’d to trust to God’s protection!”
- Behold a wooden new erection,
- So that, if sparks and wind but choose,
- God’s self at such a game must lose!

SYMBOLS.

- PALM Sunday at the Vatican
- They celebrate with palms;
- With reverence bows each holy man,
- And chants the ancient psalms.
- Those very psalms are also sung
- With olive boughs in hand,
- While holly, mountain wilds among,
- In place of palms must stand;
- In fine, one seeks some twig that’s green
- And takes a willow rod,
- So that the pious man may e’en
- In small things praise his God.
- And if ye have observ’d it well,
- To gain what’s fit ye’re able,
- If ye in faith can but excel;
- Such are the myths of fable.

THREE PALINODIAS.

- I.
- “Incense is but a tribute for the gods,—
- To mortals ’tis but poison.”
- THE smoke that from thine altar blows,
- Can it the gods offend?
- For I observe thou hold’st thy nose—
- Pray what does this portend?
- Mankind deem incense to excel
- Each other earthly thing,
- So he that cannot bear its smell
- No incense e’er should bring.
- With unmov’d face by thee at least
- To dolls is homage given;
- If not obstructed by the priest
- The scent mounts up to heaven.

II.
CONFLICT OF WIT AND BEAUTY.
SIR WIT, who is so much esteem’d,
And who is worthy of all honor,
Saw Beauty his superior deem’d
By folks who lov’d to gaze upon her;
At this he was most sorely vex’d.
Then came Sir Breath (long known as fit
To represent the cause of wit),
Beginning, rudely, I admit,
To treat the lady with a text.
To this she hearken’d not at all,
But hasten’d to his principal:
“None are so wise, they say, as you,—
Is not the world enough for two?
If you are obstinate, good-bye!
If wise, to love me you will try,
For be assur’d the world can ne’er
Give birth to a more handsome pair.”

Ἄλλως.
Fair daughters were by Beauty rear’d,
Wit had but dull sons for his lot;
So for a season it appear’d
Beauty was constant, Wit was not.
But Wit’s a native of the soil,
So he return’d, work’d, strove amain,
And found—sweet guerdon for his toil!—
Beauty to quicken him again.

III.
RAIN AND RAINBOW.
DURING a heavy storm it chanc’d
That from his room a cockney glanc’d
At the fierce tempest as it broke,
While to his neighbor thus he spoke:
“The thunder has our awe inspir’d,
Our barns by lightning have been fir’d,—
Our sins to punish, I suppose;
But in return, to soothe our woes,
See how the rain in torrents fell,
Making the harvest promise well!
But is’t a rainbow that I spy
Extending o’er the dark-gray sky?
With it I’m sure we may dispense,
The color’d cheat! The vain pretence!”
Dame Iris straightway thus replied:
“Dost dare my beauty to deride?
In realms of space God station’d me
A type of better worlds to be
To eyes that from life’s sorrows rove
In cheerful hope to heav’n above,
And, through the mists that hover here,
God and His precepts bless’d revere.
Do thou, then, grovel like the swine,
And to the ground thy snout confine,
But suffer the enlighten’d eye
To feast upon my majesty.”

VALEDICTION.

- I ONCE was fond of fools,
- And bid them come each day;
- Then each one brought his tools,
- The carpenter to play;
- The roof to strip first choosing,
- Another to supply,
- The wood as trestles using,
- To move it by-and-by,
- While here and there they ran,
- And knock’d against each other;
- To fret I soon began,
- My anger could not smother,
- So cried, “Get out, ye fools!”
- At this they were offended;
- Then each one took his tools,
- And so our friendship ended.
- Since that, I’ve wiser been,
- And sit beside my door;
- When one of them is seen,
- I cry, “Appear no more!”
- “Hence, stupid knave!” I bellow:
- At this he’s angry too:
- “You impudent old fellow!
- And pray, sir, who are you?
- Along the streets we riot,
- And revel at the fair;
- But yet we’re pretty quiet,
- And folks revile us ne’er.
- Don’t call us names, then, please!”—
- At length I meet with ease,
- For now they leave my door—
- ’Tis better than before!

THE COUNTRY SCHOOLMASTER.

- I.
- A MASTER of a country school
- Jump’d up one day from off his stool,
- Inspir’d with firm resolve to try
- To gain the best society;
- So to the nearest baths he walk’d,
- And into the saloon he stalk’d.
- He felt quite startled at the door,
- Ne’er having seen the like before.
- To the first stranger made he now
- A very low and graceful bow,
- But quite forgot to bear in mind
- That people also stood behind;
- His left-hand neighbor’s paunch he struck
- A grievous blow, by great ill luck;
- Pardon for this he first entreated,
- And then in haste his bow repeated.
- His right-hand neighbor next he hit,
- And begg’d him, too, to pardon it;
- But on his granting his petition
- Another was in like condition;
- These compliments he paid to all,
- Behind, before, across the hall;
- At length one who could stand no more
- Show’d him impatiently the door.
- * * * * *
- May many, pond’ring on their crimes,
- A moral draw from this betimes!
- II.
- As he proceeded on his way
- He thought, “I was too weak to-day;
- To bow I’ll ne’er again be seen;
- For goats will swallow what is green.”
- Across the fields he now must speed,
- Not over stumps and stones, indeed,
- But over meads and cornfields sweet,
- Trampling down all with clumsy feet.
- A farmer met him by-and-by,
- And didn’t ask him: how? or why?
- But with his fist saluted him.
- “I feel new life in every limb!”
- Our traveller cried in ecstasy.
- “Who art thou who thus gladden’st me?
- May Heaven such blessings ever send!
- Ne’er may I want a jovial friend!”

artist: b plockhorst.

THE LEGEND OF THE HORSE-SHOE.

THE LEGEND OF THE HORSESHOE.

- WHAT time our Lord still walk’d the earth,
- Unknown, despis’d, of humble birth,
- And on Him many a youth attended
- (His words they seldom comprehended),
- It ever seem’d to Him most meet
- To hold His court in open street,
- As under heaven’s broad canopy
- One speaks with greater liberty.
- The teachings of His blessed word
- From out His holy mouth were heard;
- Each market to a fane turn’d He
- With parable and simile.
- One day, as tow’rd a town He rov’d,
- In peace of mind with those He lov’d,
- Upon the path a something gleam’d:
- A broken horseshoe ’twas, it seem’d.
- So to St. Peter thus He spake:
- “That piece of iron prithee take!”
- St. Peter’s thoughts had gone astray;
- He had been musing on his way
- Respecting the world’s government—
- A dream that always gives content,
- For in the head ’tis check’d by naught;
- This ever was his dearest thought.
- For him this prize was far too mean;—
- Had it a crown and sceptre been!
- But surely ’twasn’t worth the trouble
- For half a horseshoe to bend double!
- And so he turn’d away his head
- As if he heard not what was said.
- The Lord, forbearing tow’rd all men,
- Himself pick’d up the horseshoe then
- (He ne’er again like this stoop’d down).
- And when at length they reach’d the town,
- Before a smithy He remain’d,
- And there a penny for’t obtain’d.
- As they the market-place went by,
- Some beauteous cherries caught His eye;
- Accordingly He bought as many
- As could be purchas’d for a penny,
- And then, as oft His wont had been,
- Plac’d them within his sleeve unseen.
- They went out by another gate,
- O’er plains and fields proceeding straight;
- No house or tree was near the spot;
- The sun was bright, the day was hot;
- In short, the weather being such,
- A draught of water was worth much.
- The Lord walk’d on before them all,
- And let, unseen, a cherry fall.
- St. Peter rush’d to seize it bold,
- As though an apple ’twere of gold;
- His palate much approv’d the berry.
- The Lord ere long another cherry
- Once more let fall upon the plain;
- St. Peter forthwith stoop’d again.
- The Lord kept making him thus bend
- To pick up cherries without end.
- For a long time the thing went on;
- The Lord then said, in cheerful tone:
- “Hadst thou but mov’d when thou wert bid,
- Thou of this trouble hadst been rid;
- The man who small things scorns will next
- By things still smaller be perplex’d.”