The Fowler, The Hawk, And The Lark.

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From wrongs of wicked men we draw
Excuses for our own: -
Such is the universal law.
Would you have mercy shown,
Let yours be clearly known.

A fowler's mirror served to snare
The little tenants of the air.
A lark there saw her pretty face,
And was approaching to the place.
A hawk, that sailed on high
Like vapour in the sky,
Came down, as still as infant's breath,
On her who sang so near her death.
She thus escaped the fowler's steel,
The hawk's malignant claws to feel.
While in his cruel way,
The pirate pluck'd his prey,
Upon himself the net was sprung.
'O fowler,' pray'd he in the hawkish tongue,
'Release me in thy clemency!
I never did a wrong to thee.'
The man replied, ''Tis true;
And did the lark to you?'

Jean de La Fontaine

Jean de La Fontaine was a renowned French fabulist and poet. Born on July 8, 1621, he is best known for his 'Fables,' which have been admired for their witty and insightful depiction of human nature and society. La Fontaine's fables are considered classics of French literature and have had a long-lasting impact on both the literary world and popular culture. He passed away on April 13, 1695.

Jean de La Fontaine

The Shepherd And His Flock.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Wolf And The Hunter.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Arbiter, The Almoner, And The Hermit.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Rat And The Elephant.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

English

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The Hare And The Partridge.

Beware how you deride
The exiles from life's sunny side:
To you is little known
How soon their case may be your own.
On this, sage Aesop gives a tale or two,
As in my verses I propose to do.
A field in common share
A partridge and a hare,
And live in peaceful state,
Till, woeful to relate!
The hunters' mingled cry
Compels the hare to fly.
He hurries to his fort,
And spoils almost the sport
By faulting every hound
That yelps upon the ground.
At last his reeking heat
Betrays his snug retreat.
Old Tray, with philosophic nose,
Snuffs carefully, and grows
So certain, that he cries,
'The hare is here; bow wow!'
And veteran Ranger now, -
The dog that never lies, -
'The hare is gone,' replies.
Alas! poor, wretched hare,

Jean de La Fontaine

The Hare And The Partridge.

    A field in common share
        A partridge and a hare,
    And live in peaceful state,
    Till, woeful to relate!
    The hunters' mingled cry
    Compels the hare to fly.
    He hurries to his fort,
    And spoils almost the sport
    By faulting every hound
    That yelps upon the ground.
    At last his reeking heat
    Betrays his snug retreat.
Old Tray, with philosophic nose,
Snuffs carefully, and grows
    So certain, that he cries,
        "The hare is here; bow wow!"
        And veteran Ranger now,--
    The dog that never lies,--
    "The hare is gone," replies.
    Alas! poor, wretched hare,
    Back comes he to his lair,
    To meet destruction there!
    The partridge, void of fear,
    Begins her friend to ...

Jean de La Fontaine

Answer To Dr. Delany's Fable Of The Pheasant And Lark.

1730


In ancient times, the wise were able
In proper terms to write a fable:
Their tales would always justly suit
The characters of every brute.
The ass was dull, the lion brave,
The stag was swift, the fox a knave;
The daw a thief, the ape a droll,
The hound would scent, the wolf would prowl:
A pigeon would, if shown by Æsop,
Fly from the hawk, or pick his pease up.
Far otherwise a great divine
Has learnt his fables to refine;
He jumbles men and birds together,
As if they all were of a feather:
You see him first the Peacock bring,
Against all rules, to be a king;
That in his tail he wore his eyes,
By which he grew both rich and wise.
Now, pray, observe the doctor's choice,
A Peacock chose for flight and voice;
Did ever mort...

Jonathan Swift

The Raven, The Gazelle, The Tortoise, And The Rat.

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To Madame De La Sablière.^[2]

A temple I reserved you in my rhyme:
It might not be completed but with time.
Already its endurance I had grounded
Upon this charming art, divinely founded;
And on the name of that divinity
For whom its adoration was to be.
These words I should have written o'er its gate -
TO IRIS IS THIS PALACE CONSECRATE;
Not her who served the queen divine;
For Juno's self, and he who crown'd her bliss,
Had thought it for their dignity, I wis,
To bear the messages of mine.
Within the dome the apotheosis
Should greet th' enraptured sight -
All heaven, in pomp and order meet,
Conducting Iris to her seat
Beneath a canopy of light!
The walls would amply serve to paint her life, -
A matter swe...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Swallow And The Little Birds.[1]

By voyages in air,
With constant thought and care,
Much knowledge had a swallow gain'd,
Which she for public use retain'd,
The slightest storms she well foreknew,
And told the sailors ere they blew.
A farmer sowing hemp, once having found,
She gather'd all the little birds around,
And said, 'My friends, the freedom let me take
To prophesy a little, for your sake,
Against this dangerous seed.
Though such a bird as I
Knows how to hide or fly,
You birds a caution need.
See you that waving hand?
It scatters on the land
What well may cause alarm.
'Twill grow to nets and snares,
To catch you unawares,
And work you fatal harm!
Great multitudes I fear,
Of you, my birdies dear,
That falling seed, so little,
Will bring to cage or kettl...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Eagle And The Magpie.

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The eagle, through the air a queen,
And one far different, I ween,
In temper, language, thought, and mien, -
The magpie, - once a prairie cross'd.
The by-path where they met was drear,
And Madge gave up herself for lost;
But having dined on ample cheer,
The eagle bade her, 'Never fear;
You're welcome to my company;
For if the king of gods can be
Full oft in need of recreation, -
Who rules the world, - right well may I,
Who serve him in that high relation:
Amuse me, then, before you fly.'
Our cackler, pleased, at quickest rate
Of this and that began to prate.
Not he of whom old Flaccus writes,
The most impertinent of wights,
Or any babbler, for that matter,
Could more incontinently chatter.
At last she offer'd to ma...

Jean de La Fontaine