Which neither suns nor winds invade, And there, beneath a rugged mountain, Beside a clear and babbling fountain, They found their friend the Hermit saint; So each one having made his plaint, Asked his advice. "Your own pursue," Replied their friend; "for who but you Can know your several wants? To know One's self makes gods of man below. And let me ask you, have you found This knowledge where vast crowds abound? No; trust me, it can only be The fruit of sweet tranquillity. Shake but the water in your vase, And you no longer see your face; But let it once more still remain, And straight your likeness comes again. 'Midst worldly scenes you'll never learn The love for which we all should yearn. Believe me, friends, the desert's best For him who'd study his own breast." To each the Hermit's words seemed good, And, henceforth, each one sought the wood. Of course, there's always work to do, Whilst men still sicken, and still sue, For lawyers and for doctors; and They'll never perish from the land, Thank mighty Jove, as long as fees And honours greet their services. But in such common toils the mind Can seldom its true likeness find. Oh, you, who give your lives away, And serve the public every day,-- You, princes, judges, magistrates, Exposed to all the angry fates, [Illustration: THE ARBITRATOR, ALMONER AND HERMIT.] Who, when no other ill oppresses, Are slain by Judas-like caresses,-- To you yourselves are all unknown; And if some moment is your own, For self-reflection, ere it flies 'Tis spoilt by hateful flattery's lies. This lesson shall conclude these pages; May it be blessed to future ages! To Kings I give it, to the wise commend: How could my volume better end? End of Project Gutenberg's The Fables of La Fontaine, by Jean de la Fontaine