Progne, the Swallow, set forth from her dwelling, And, leaving the cities afar, took flight For the grove that Philomel chose for telling Her ancient griefs to the listening night. "Sister," said Progne, "I have not met you For nearly the space of a thousand years. Why are we parted? I cannot forget you, Nor banish our Thracian trials and tears. Come, leave this wood; it is dark and lonely." "What haunt could be pleasanter?" Philomel asked. "And is it," said Progne, "for animals only, Or peasants at best, that your efforts are tasked? With a note so rich 'tis a thousand pities To scatter its charms to the desert air. Come, quit this grove to delight our cities, And waste no longer a gift so rare. These woods, my sister, must oft remind you Of all the sorrow King Tereus wrought. Leave, leave the terrible days behind you, And give to the past not a tearful thought." "'Tis the memory, dear, of our Thracian troubles," Said Philomel, sadly, "that bids me stay; For the sight of humanity only doubles The grief of the times that have passed away!" [Illustration] [Illustration] FABLE XLVII. THE LION AND THE ASS. The King of Animals a <i>battue</i> made Upon his birthday, bent to fill his bags. The Lion's game is not with sparrows played; But boars of bulk, and good-sized portly stags. For an ally in this affair, He had an able minister. The Ass, with Stentor's voice, served as his hunting-horn; The Lion hid deep 'mid the thickest wood, And ordered him to bray loud as he could; So that the clamour shrilly borne, Might drive from every nook and lair Those not initiated to the sound. The hideous tempest came; the air Shook with the dreadful discord; round It flew, and scared the fiercest forest creatures; They fled with terror-stricken features. And fell into the ready snare, Where the King Lion stood to meet his prey. "Have I not served thee brave and true?" The Ass said, taking to himself the palm. "Yes," quoth the Lion, grave and calm, "'Twas nobly brayed; I own to you, Had I not known your name and race, I had been almost frightened too!" Had he been rash, the Ass, his rage Would not have hidden, I'll engage. Just was the rallying, though severe; For who can bear a bragging Ass? It does not fit their rank or class, And very ill becomes their business here. [Illustration] [Illustration] FABLE XLVIII. THE CAT AND THE OLD RAT.