The Fables of Florian. Jean Pierre Claris de Florian

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      FABLE VI.

      THE CARP AND HER YOUNG.

      "Take care, my little ones, take care,

       Beware the river's bank," she said,

       "The treach'rous hook is lurking there;

       The hawk is hov'ring in the air;

       Keep ever to the river's bed."

       Thus 'midst the waters of the Seine,

       The carp once plead, yet plead in vain,

      ​

      With her young fry.

       'Twas April; and through all the sky,

       The warm and moisty zephyrs flew,

       To wake the mountains from their dreams;

       And fill again the languid streams,

       Which overflow'd the country through.

       Oh then to see

       The revelry

       Of the young fry,

       As brisk and spry,

       They darted through the swollen flood!

       "Where's now your fear,

       My mother dear?

       There's nothing here but good.

       The flood is to a deluge grown,

       The whole world now is overflown,

       And its domination is our own.

       What is the need, midst such a sea,

       In fear of hooks or hawks to be?"

       Thus said the young fry in their glee.

       "No, no," the mother straight replies,

       "This flood is but a moment's rise;

       Your only safety, as I've said,

       Is not to leave the river's bed."

       "Oh pish!"

       Exclaimed the mad young fish.

       "You weak old carp!

       You always on that one string harp!

       We are resolv'd to leave the Seine,

       And enter on our new domain."

      ​

      So saying, off the young ones go,

       Exulting in the overflow.

       We need not on their journey dwell,

       For soon the risen waters fell;

       The carplings, caught in shallow pools,

       The fools!

       Were hurried to the frying pan.

       Now let him tell me, he who can,

       Why did these carplings disobey,

       And from the river stroll away?

       Was it because they thought they knew

       Their mother's counsels were not true?

       Or was't they wanted something new?

       Or did they think that—Ah, my friend!

       To such inquiries where's the end?

      The Two Gardeners

       Table of Contents

      ​

      FABLE VII.

      THE TWO GARDENERS.

      Two brother gardeners had the lot

       To fall heirs to a garden spot.

       They halved in peace the legacy,

       Working together day by day,

       Living in perfect amity,

       Each managing in his own way.

       One of the two, whose name was John,

      ​

      A gift of speech much doted on.

       He thought himself a man of wit,

       That e'en for LL.D. was fit.

       He had the knack

       Of conning o'er the almanac.

       Of books and charts he kept a stock,

       And daily eyed the weather-cock.

       Still to his genius giving wing,

       He sought to know

       How from one single pea could spring

       The thousand peas that from it grow;—

       Why from the linden's tiny seed

       A tree so lofty should proceed,

       While from the bean's far ampler size

       A mere shrub comes that shortly dies;

       And, above all, how beans should know

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