The Mountain In Labour.

^[1]

A mountain was in travail pang;
The country with her clamour rang.
Out ran the people all, to see,
Supposing that the birth would be
A city, or at least a house.
It was a mouse!

In thinking of this fable,
Of story feign'd and false,
But meaning veritable,
My mind the image calls
Of one who writes, "The war I sing
Which Titans waged against the Thunder-king."^[2]
As on the sounding verses ring,
What will be brought to birth?
Why, dearth.

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 Horoscope (Prose Fable)

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Wolf And The Shepherds.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

An Animal In The Moon.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Acorn and the Pumpkin.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Lioness And The Bear.

The lioness had lost her young;
A hunter stole it from the vale;
The forests and the mountains rung
Responsive to her hideous wail.
Nor night, nor charms of sweet repose,
Could still the loud lament that rose
From that grim forest queen.
No animal, as you might think,
With such a noise could sleep a wink.
A bear presumed to intervene.
'One word, sweet friend,' quoth she,
'And that is all, from me.
The young that through your teeth have pass'd,
In file unbroken by a fast,
Had they nor dam nor sire?'
'They had them both.' 'Then I desire,
Since all their deaths caused no such grievous riot,
While mothers died of grief beneath your fiat,
To know why you yourself cannot be quiet?'
'I quiet! - I! - a wretch bereaved!
My only son! - such anguish b...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Birthplace

Here further up the mountain slope
Than there was every any hope,
My father built, enclosed a spring,
Strung chains of wall round everything,
Subdued the growth of earth to grass,
And brought our various lives to pass.
A dozen girls and boys we were.
The mountain seemed to like the stir,
And made of us a little while,
With always something in her smile.
Today she wouldn't know our name.
(No girl's, of course, has stayed the same.)
The mountain pushed us off her knees.
And now her lap is full of trees.

Robert Lee Frost

The Swiss Mercenaries.

("Lorsque le regiment des hallebardiers.")

[Bk. XXXI.]


When the regiment of Halberdiers
Is proudly marching by,
The eagle of the mountain screams
From out his stormy sky;
Who speaketh to the precipice,
And to the chasm sheer;
Who hovers o'er the thrones of kings,
And bids the caitiffs fear.
King of the peak and glacier,
King of the cold, white scalps -
He lifts his head, at that close tread,
The eagle of the Alps.

O shame! those men that march below -
O ignominy dire!
Are the sons of my free mountains
Sold for imperial hire.
Ah! the vilest in the dungeon!
Ah! the slave upon the seas -
Is great, is pure, is glorious,
Is grand compared with these,
Who, born amid my holy rocks,
In solemn places hig...

Victor-Marie Hugo

The Wolf, The Mother, And Her Child.

^[1]

This wolf another brings to mind,
Who found dame Fortune more unkind,
In that the greedy, pirate sinner,
Was balk'd of life as well as dinner.
As saith our tale, a villager
Dwelt in a by, unguarded place;
There, hungry, watch'd our pillager
For luck and chance to mend his case.
For there his thievish eyes had seen
All sorts of game go out and in -
Nice sucking calves, and lambs and sheep;
And turkeys by the regiment,
With steps so proud, and necks so bent,
They'd make a daintier glutton weep.
The thief at length began to tire
Of being gnaw'd by vain desire.
Just then a child set up a cry:
'Be still,' the mother said, 'or I
Will throw you to the wolf, you brat!'
'Ha, ha!' thought he, 'what talk is that!
The gods be ...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Modern Climber.

    Year after year, as Summer suns come round,
    Upon the Calais packet am I found:
    Thence to Geneva hurried by express,
    I halt for breakfast, bathe, and change my dress.
    My well-worn knapsack to my back I strap;
    My Alpine rope I neatly round me wrap;
    Then, axe in hand, the diligence disdaining,
    I walk to Chamonix, by way of training.
    Arrived at Coutlet's Inn by eventide,
    I interview my porter and my guide:
    My guide, that Mentor who has dragg'd full oft
    These aching, shaking, quaking limbs aloft;
    Braved falling stones, cut steps on ice-slopes steep,
    That I the glory of his deeds might reap.
    My porter, who with uncomplaining back
    O'er passes, peaks, and glaciers bears my pack:
    Tho' now...

Edward Woodley Bowling

The Shepherd And The King.

^[1]

Two demons at their pleasure share our being -
The cause of Reason from her homestead fleeing;
No heart but on their altars kindleth flames.
If you demand their purposes and names,
The one is Love, the other is Ambition.
Of far the greater share this takes possession,
For even into love it enters,
Which I might prove; but now my story centres
Upon a shepherd clothed with lofty powers:
The tale belongs to older times than ours.

A king observed a flock, wide spread
Upon the plains, most admirably fed,
O'erpaying largely, as return'd the years,
Their shepherd's care, by harvests for his shears.
Such pleasure in this man the monarch took, -
'Thou meritest,' said he, 'to wield a crook
O'er higher flock than this; and my esteem
O...

Jean de La Fontaine