A TRUE FABLE, WITHOUT A MORAL.

  ’This LOUIS is a rascal, friend;
  From all his arts may Heaven defend! 
  And be thou ever on thy guard,
  Lest thy faith meet a sad reward. 
  And if he swear he loves thee, laugh! 
  For give him thy little finger half,
  And the iron chains of his stern control
  Will sink like fire on thy poor soul!’

  Now VICTOR heard all this, one day,
  And smiled—­’It’s queer how men can say
    Such things to injure their neighbors! 
  For do but look at this wonderful man,
  So rich in thought, so fertile in plan,
  Who, to place all tyranny under ban,
    Never remits his labors,—­
  This dear, good soul, who, with magical art,
  Brings freedom and peace to my trembling heart.’

  Soon after, Sir LOUIS rode over the moor: 
  ’My VICTOR, how comes it you’re still so poor,
    When I have paid all your debts, sir? 
  I’ve made you so rich, I’ve made you so great;
  I’ve brought you gifts of money and plate;
  Is there anything more to complete your state,
    That you’d like to have, I can get, sir? 
  Come, VICTOR, confess to your faithful friend,
  Who to make you happy his honor would lend.’

  ’Oh, worthy man,—­my tower and strength! 
  How sweet it is that I may, at length,
    Confide in you as a brother!’
  ’Yes, take what you will, my statesman hold,
  Only ask not whence comes the shining gold. 
  Just see what a beauty here I hold;
    If you’re good I may bring you another!—­
  A crown so rich in costly gems
  It will match the Eastern diadems!’

  Little VICTOR gazed at the sparkling crown,
  Then fell at the feet of his LOUIS down,
    Overcome by deep emotion. 
  ’Oh! oh! is it true? is it all for me? 
  This beautiful crown, with its diamonds three?
  And he clapped his hands in boundless glee,
    And vowed eternal devotion;
  While LOUIS looked on with a happy heart,
  And blessed himself for his consummate art.

  ‘Yes, VICTOR,’ he said, ’it gives me joy
  To present you, to-day, with this pretty toy,
    With such freedom from envy or rancor! 
  But get up from your knees; ’tisn’t quite orthodox
  To kneel to a man; you might get on the rocks
    Of his HOLINESS’ anger. 
  Now lay the crown in your jewel-box,
  And, lest some wandering, cunning fox
  Should steal it, be sure to secure the locks.’

  ‘Oh, a friend in need is a friend indeed!’
  Quoth VICTOR; ’but this is beyond my meed. 
    And what gift of mine can repay you?’
  ’The key of the casket, friend, if you please,
  I will take to my safe beyond the seas. 
  Your grateful heart will thus rest at ease;
    So give it to me, I pray you.’ 
  But VICTOR’S eyes grew large with fright,
  And he cried, ’Oh, LOUIS! this can’t be right;
  For how can I get of my jewels a sight? 
    You might as well take them away too.’ 
  ‘Give me the key!’ screamed his guardian angel,
  ‘Or receive the curse of the LORD’S evangel!’