Fortvne And The Boy

A Boy heedless slept by the well
By Dame Fortune awaked, truth to tell,
Said she, "Hadst been drowned,
'Twould have surely been found
This by Fortune, not Folly befel."

Fortune Is Not Answerable For Our Want Of Foresight

Walter Crane

Walter Crane was an English artist and book illustrator, considered to be one of the most prolific and influential children's book creators of his generation. Born on August 15, 1845, and passing away on March 14, 1915, he was part of the Arts and Crafts movement and is known for his innovative contributions to children's literature. His work often combined art and poetry, aiming to educate and delight young readers.

Walter Crane

Ye Frog & Ye Crow

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Charley Over The Water

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Little Iack Horner

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Queen Summer Or, The Tourney Of The Lily And The Rose

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

English

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Fortune And The Boy.

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Beside a well, uncurb'd and deep,
A schoolboy laid him down to sleep:
(Such rogues can do so anywhere.)
If some kind man had seen him there,
He would have leap'd as if distracted;
But Fortune much more wisely acted;
For, passing by, she softly waked the child,
Thus whispering in accents mild:
'I save your life, my little dear,
And beg you not to venture here
Again, for had you fallen in,
I should have had to bear the sin;
But I demand, in reason's name,
If for your rashness I'm to blame?'
With this the goddess went her way.
I like her logic, I must say.
There takes place nothing on this planet,
But Fortune ends, whoe'er began it.
In all adventures good or ill,
We look to her to foot the bill.
Has one a stupid, empt...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Man Who Ran After Fortune, And The Man Who Waited For Her In His Bed.

Who joins not with his restless race
To give Dame Fortune eager chase?
O, had I but some lofty perch,
From which to view the panting crowd
Of care-worn dreamers, poor and proud,
As on they hurry in the search,
From realm to realm, o'er land and water,
Of Fate's fantastic, fickle daughter!
Ah! slaves sincere of flying phantom!
Just as their goddess they would clasp,
The jilt divine eludes their grasp,
And flits away to Bantam!
Poor fellows! I bewail their lot.
And here's the comfort of my ditty;
For fools the mark of wrath are not
So much, I'm sure, as pity.
'That man,' say they, and feed their hope,
'Raised cabbages - and now he's pope.
Don't we deserve as rich a prize?'
Ay, richer? But, hath Fortune eyes?
And then the popedom, is it worth<...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Man Who Ran After Fortune And The Man Who Waited For Her In His Bed (Prose Fable)

Who does not run after Fortune?

I would I were in some spot whence I could watch the eager crowds rushing from kingdom to kingdom in their vain chase after the daughter of Chance!

They are indeed but faithful followers of a phantom; for when they think they have her, lo! she is gone! Poor wretches! One must pity rather than blame their foolishness. "That man," they say with sanguine voice, "raised cabbages; and now he is Pope! Are we not as good as he?" Ah! yes! a hundred times as good perhaps; but what of that? Fortune has no eyes for all your merit. Besides, is Papacy, after all, worth peace, which one must leave behind for it? Peace - a treasure that once was the possession of gods alone - is seldom granted to the votaries of Dame Fortune. Do not seek her; and then she will seek you. That is the way with women!

Jean de La Fontaine

Love And Folly. - From La Fontaine. (Translations.)

Love's worshippers alone can know
The thousand mysteries that are his;
His blazing torch, his twanging bow,
His blooming age are mysteries.
A charming science, but the day
Were all too short to con it o'er;
So take of me this little lay,
A sample of its boundless lore.

As once, beneath the fragrant shade
Of myrtles breathing heaven's own air,
The children, Love and Folly, played,
A quarrel rose betwixt the pair.
Love said the gods should do him right,
But Folly vowed to do it then,
And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight,
So hard he never saw again.

His lovely mother's grief was deep,
She called for vengeance on the deed;
A beauty does not vainly weep,
Nor coldly does a mother plead.
A shade came o'er the eternal bliss
That ...

William Cullen Bryant

The Treasure-Digger

All my weary days I pass'd

Sick at heart and poor in purse.

Poverty's the greatest curse,

Riches are the highest good!
And to end my woes at last,

Treasure-seeking forth I sped.

"Thou shalt have my soul instead!"

Thus I wrote, and with my blood.

Ring round ring I forthwith drew,

Wondrous flames collected there,

Herbs and bones in order fair,

Till the charm had work'd aright.
Then, to learned precepts true,

Dug to find some treasure old,

In the place my art foretold

Black and stormy was the night.

Coming o'er the distant plain,

With the glimmer of a star,

Soon I saw a light afar,

As the hour of midnight knell'd.
Preparation was in vain.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Fortune Favours.

Fortune did never favour one
Fully, without exception;
Though free she be, there's something yet
Still wanting to her favourite.

Robert Herrick