Along a clear stream a Dove was drinking,
When, leaning over the water, an Ant fell in.
And in that ocean one would have seen the Ant
Struggling, but in vain, to regain the bank.
The Dove at once showed charity:
A blade of grass having been thrown into the water by her,
It was a promontory where the Ant arrives.
She saves herself; and thereupon
Passes a certain Peasant who walked barefoot.
This Peasant, by chance, had a crossbow.
As soon as he sees the Bird of Venus
He thinks it in his pot, and already celebrates it.
While the Villager prepares to kill it,
The Ant stings him in the heel.
The Churl turns his head:
The Dove hears him, leaves, and makes off.
The Peasant’s supper flies away with her:
No Pigeon for a farthing.
Jean de La Fontaine
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/fable-the-dove-and-the-ant-jean-de-la-fontaine/
