The goddess Discord, having made, on high, Among the gods a general grapple, And thence a lawsuit, for an apple, Was turn'd out, bag and baggage, from the sky. The animal call'd man, with open arms, Received the goddess of such naughty charms,-- Herself and Whether-or-no, her brother, With Thine-and-mine, her stingy mother. In this, the lower universe, Our hemisphere she chose to curse: For reasons good she did not please To visit our antipodes-- Folks rude and savage like the beasts, Who, wedding-free from forms and priests, In simple tent or leafy bower, Make little work for such a power. That she might know exactly where Her direful aid was in demand, Renown flew courier through the land, Reporting each dispute with care; Then she, outrunning Peace, was quickly there; And if she found a spark of ire, Was sure to blow it to a fire. At length, Renown got out of patience At random hurrying o'er the nations, And, not without good reason, thought A goddess, like her mistress, ought To have some fix'd and certain home, To which her customers might come; For now they often search'd in vain. With due location, it was plain She might accomplish vastly more, And more in season than before. To find, howe'er, the right facilities, Was harder, then, than now it is; For then there were no nunneries. So, Hymen's inn at last assign'd, Thence lodged the goddess to her mind.[25] [25] La Fontaine, gentle reader, does not mean to say that Discord lodges with all married people, but that the foul fiend is never better satisfied than when she can find such accommodation.--Translator. XXI.--THE YOUNG WIDOW.[26] A husband's death brings always sighs; The widow sobs, sheds tears--then dries. Of Time the sadness borrows wings; And Time returning pleasure brings. Between the widow of a year And of a day, the difference Is so immense, That very few who see her Would think the laughing dame And weeping one the same. The one puts on repulsive action, The other shows a strong attraction. The one gives up to sighs, or true or false; The same sad note is heard, whoever calls. Her grief is inconsolable, They say. Not so our fable, Or, rather, not so says the truth.