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Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide
In the furrowed land
Near at hand,
H. W. Longfello:
EPITAPH ON A HARE Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue
Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo!
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nurs'd with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw ; Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
On pippin's russet peel,
Sliced carrot pleased him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he loved to bound, To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing himself around.
His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear,
Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years and five round-rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
And every night at play.
I kept him for his humours' sake,
For he would oft beguile
And force me to a smile.
But now, beneath this walnut shade,
He finds his long last home,
Till gentler Puss shall come.
He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase)
An angel writing in a book of gold :-
The angel wrote and vanished. The next night
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCY
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wigli:,
Alone and palely loitering ?
And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
Fast withereth too.
I met a Lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a fairy's child ;
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long ; For sideways would she lean and sing
A fairy's song
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She lookd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gazed and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes,
So kissed to sleep.
And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah, woe betide, The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill-side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; Who cried ‘La belle Dame sans mercy
Hath thee in thrall !!