The Waggoner And The Butterlfy Poem by Ignacy Krasicki

(An argosy of fables 1921/Polish fables)

The rain so soft had made the road, ⁠
That, in a rut, a Waggon-load,
The poor man's harvest (bitter luck) .
Sank down a foot, and then it stuck.
He whipp'd his horses, but in vain;
They pull'd and splash'd and pulled again,
But vainly still, the slippery soil
Defied their strength, and mock'd their toil.
Panting they stood, with legs outspread.
The driver stood and scratched his head:
(A common custom, by-the-by.
When people know not what to try,
Tho' not, it seems, a remedy) .
A Butterfly, in flower concealed,
Had travell'd with them from the field,
Who in the Waggon was thrown up.
While feasting on a buttercup.
The panting of each lab'ring beast
Disturbed her at her fragrant feast;
The sudden stop, the driver's sigh,
Awoke her gen'rous sympathy.
And seeing the distressing case
She cried, while springing from her place,
(Imagining her tiny freight
A vast addition to the weight) ,
"I must have pity—and be gone,
Now, master Waggoner, drive on."


⁠Do not admire this Butterfly,
Young reader; I will tell you why:
At first good nature seems a cause,
Why she should merit your applause,
But 'twas conceit, that fill'd her breast:
Her self-importance made a jest
Of what might otherwise have claimed
Your praise, —but now she must be blamed.
Should any case occur when you
May have some friendly act to do;
Give all your feeble aid—as such,
But estimate it not too much.

(Translated from the Polish of Ignace Krasicki.