The Lioness And The Bear

: A Hundred Fables Of La Fontaine

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 be
r 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 be relieved!

No, never! All for me below

Is but a life of tears and woe!"--

"But say, why doom yourself to sorrow so?"--

"Alas! 'tis Destiny that is my foe."

_Such language, since the mortal fall,_

_Has fallen from the lips of all._

_Ye human wretches, give your heed;_

_For your complaints there's little need._

_Let him who thinks his own the hardest case,_

_Some widowed, childless Hecuba behold,_

_Herself to toil and shame of slavery sold,_

_And he will own the wealth of heavenly grace._