The Words Of Socrates.

^[1]

A house was built by Socrates
That failed the public taste to please.
Some blamed the inside; some, the out; and all
Agreed that the apartments were too small.
Such rooms for him, the greatest sage of Greece!
'I ask,' said he, 'no greater bliss
Than real friends to fill e'en this.'
And reason had good Socrates
To think his house too large for these.
A crowd to be your friends will claim,
Till some unhandsome test you bring.
There's nothing plentier than the name;
There's nothing rarer than the thing.

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 Sculptor And The Statue Of Jupiter.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Eagle, The Wild Sow, And The Cat.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Devil In Hell

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Ploughman And His Sons.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

English

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Democritus And The People Of Abdera.

How do I hate the tide of vulgar thought!
Profane, unjust, with childish folly fraught;
It breaks and bends the rays of truth divine,
And by its own conceptions measures mine.
Famed Epicurus' master^[1] tried
The power of this unstable tide.
His country said the sage was mad -
The simpletons! But why?
No prophet ever honour had
Beneath his native sky.
Democritus, in truth, was wise;
The mass were mad, with faith in lies.
So far this error went,
That all Abdera sent
To old Hippocrates
To cure the sad disease.
'Our townsman,' said the messengers,
Appropriately shedding tears,
'Hath lost his wits! Democritus,
By study spoil'd, is lost to us.
Were he but fill'd with ignorance,
We should esteem him less a dunce.
He saith that...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Scythian Philosopher.

A Scythian philosopher austere,
Resolved his rigid life somewhat to cheer,
Perform'd the tour of Greece, saw many things,
But, best, a sage, - one such as Virgil sings, -
A simple, rustic man, that equal'd kings;
From whom, the gods would hardly bear the palm;
Like them unawed, content, and calm.
His fortune was a little nook of land;
And there the Scythian found him, hook in hand,
His fruit-trees pruning. Here he cropp'd
A barren branch, there slash'd and lopp'd,
Correcting Nature everywhere,
Who paid with usury his care.
'Pray, why this wasteful havoc, sir?' -
So spoke the wondering traveller;
'Can it, I ask, in reason's name,
Be wise these harmless trees to maim?
Fling down that instrument of crime,
And leave them to the scythe of Time.
Full ...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Arbiter, The Almoner, And The Hermit.

Three saints, for their salvation jealous,
Pursued, with hearts alike most zealous,
By routes diverse, their common aim.
All highways lead to Rome: the same
Of heaven our rivals deeming true,
Each chose alone his pathway to pursue.
Moved by the cares, delays, and crosses
Attach'd to suits by legal process,
One gave himself as judge, without reward,
For earthly fortune having small regard.
Since there are laws, to legal strife
Man damns himself for half his life.
For half? - Three-fourths! - perhaps the whole!
The hope possess'd our umpire's soul,
That on his plan he should be able
To cure this vice detestable. -
The second chose the hospitals.
I give him praise: to solace pain
Is charity not spent in vain,
While men in part are animals.
The...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Companions Of Ulysses.

To Monseigneur The Duke De Bourgogne.^[1]

Dear prince, a special favourite of the skies,
Pray let my incense from your altars rise.
With these her gifts, if rather late my muse,
My age and labours must her fault excuse.
My spirit wanes, while yours beams on the sight
At every moment with augmented light:
It does not go - it runs, - it seems to fly;
And he from whom it draws its traits so high,
In war a hero,^[2] burns to do the same.
No lack of his that, with victorious force,
His giant strides mark not his glory's course:
Some god retains: our sovereign I might name;
Himself no less than conqueror divine,
Whom one short month made master of the Rhine.
It needed then upon the foe to dash;
Perhaps, to-day, such generalship were rash.

Jean de La Fontaine

Dialogue From Plato, A

"Le temps le mieux employe est celui qu' on perd."
                                |Claude Tillier|.

I'd read three hours. Both notes and text
    Were fast a mist becoming;
In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed,
    And filled the room with humming.

Then out. The casement's leafage sways,
    And, parted light, discloses
Miss Di., with hat and book, a maze
    Of muslin mixed with roses.

"You're reading Greek?" "I am, and you?"
    "O, mine's a mere romancer!"
"So Plato is." "Then read him, do;
    And I'll read mine in answer."

I read. "My Plato (Plato, too,
    That wisdom thus should harden!)
Declares 'blue eyes look doubly blue
    Beneath a Dolly Varden.'"

She smiled. "My book in turn avers
    (No author...

Henry Austin Dobson

The Fool And The Sage.

^[1]

A fool pursued, with club and stone,
A sage, who said, 'My friend, well done!
Receive this guinea for your pains;
They well deserve far higher gains.
The workman's worthy of his hire,
'Tis said. There comes a wealthy squire,
Who hath wherewith thy works to pay;
To him direct thy gifts, and they
Shall gain their proper recompense.'
Urged by the hope of gain,
Upon the wealthy citizen
The fool repeated the offence.
His pay this time was not in gold.
Upon the witless man
A score of ready footmen ran,
And on his back, in full, his wages told.
In courts, such fools afflict the wise;
They raise the laugh at your expense.
To check their babble, were it sense
Their folly meetly to chastise?
Perhaps 'twill take a stronger ma...

Jean de La Fontaine