Babrius (3)

Here are some more fables by Babrius, translated into English verse by James Davies: The Fables of Babrius, and you can click here for all the Babrius fables at this blog. 

The Oxen and the Butchers

Some oxen wish'd the butcher tribe to kill,

Who boasted a to them destructive skill.

But when they met, and now for direful fray

Whetted their horns, an ox of ancient day

Among them, who for years had borne the plough,

Said, "These at least have hands experienced, how

To kill and carve us, not to hack and hew:

But if we chance on men to slaughter new,

6 We shall die twice. One will not lack to fell

The ox, but one perhaps to do it well."

A man in haste from present woes to flee

Should see his path from worse disaster free.

illustration by Weir

The Farmer and the Cranes

A farmer's land, fresh sown with wheaten grain,

Was being wasted by the hurtful crane.

Long did the farmer lift an empty sling,

By fear alone their troop discomfiting.

But when they found he only smote the air,

To fly at his approach they did not care:

Till he no longer made a feint to throw,

But laid with stones the greater number low.

Quitting the corn, the rest began to cry,

"Come, to the land of pygmies let us fly.

This man, it seems, content no more with fright,

Is now beginning to put forth his might."

The Sculptor and Mercury

A man had wrought a Mercury for sale

In marble. Would-be buyers did not fail.

One for a pillar (he'd just lost a son)

To buy it wish'd, for a god's statue one.

Night came: yet it the sculptor had not sold,

So he agreed at morn again t' unfold

The statue, if they'd come. In slumber deep

He gazed on Hermes at the gates of sleep,

Who said, "Good measure of my worth you take,

"Since god or corpse of me you mean to make."

illustration by Tenniel

The Aged Horse

Once an old horse was sold to work the mill:

And yok'd each eve a grinder's task to fill.

At last it groan'd and said, "What courses past,

Round what strange millers' turns I wheel at last!"

Be not too much with fortune's hopes elate:

Age ends for many in a troubled state.

The Oak and the Reed

A mountain-wind tore from its roots an oak,

A wondrous old-world plant, with sweeping stroke;

And lodg'd it in a stream, where to and fro

The eddies sway'd it. Close beside there grow

Upon the bank, by rippling water fed,

Unnumber'd reeds. "'Twas strange," the stout oak said,

"That plants so frail and feeble did not fall,

While giant oaks are riven up roots and all."

Sagely the reed made answer. "Marvel not:

Through struggling with the blasts, a fall you got:

If but our slender tops the light breeze fill,

We meekly bend us with a yielding will."

So spake the reed. Our fable, look you, shows

'Tis best to bow to might, and not t' oppose.

illustration from the Medici Aesop