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Nor deeming kittens worth a poet's care.
the threshold met my view,
?” On to the hall went I, with pace not slow, But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe ; With which, well armed, I hastened to the spot, To find the viper but I found him not, And, turning up the leaves and shrubs around, Found only that he was not to be found. But still the kittens, sitting as before, Sat watching close the bottom of the door. “I hope,” said I, “ the villain I would kill Has slipt between the door and the door-sill ; And if I make dispatch, and follow hard, No doubt but I shall find him in the yard,”: For, long ere now, it should have been rehearsed, ’T was in the garden that I found him first. E’en there I found him, there the full-grown cat His head with velvet paw did gently pat, As curious as the kittens erst had been To learn what this phenomenon might mean. Filled with heroic ardor at the sight,
And fearing every moment he might bite,
SHE moved through the garden in glory, because
THE DUMB SOLDIER
WHEN the grass was closely mown,
Spring and daisies came apace ;
Under grass alone he lies,
Scarlet coat and pointed gun,
When the grass is ripe like grain,
hole shall reappear.
I shall find him, never fear,
and come, I shall find my soldier dumb.
He has lived, a little thing,
He has seen the starry hours,
In the silence he has heard
Not a word will he disclose,
Robert Louis Stevenson.
THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE
Word was brought to the Danish king,
(Hurry !) That the love of his heart lay suffering, And pined for the comfort his voice would bring ;
(Oh, ride as if you were flying !)
And his Rose of the Isles is dying.
Thirty nobles saddled with speed;
(Oh, ride as though you were flying !)
For his Rose of the Isles lay dying.
His nobles are beaten, one by one ;
(Hurry !) They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward
For strength and for courage trying.
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropped, and only the king rode in
Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying.
The king blew a blast on his bugle-horn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing ;
ride! For, dead in the light of the dawning day, The pale, sweet form of the welcomer lay,
Who had yearned for his voice while dying.
The panting steed with a drooping crest
Stood weary ;
The king returned from the chamber of rest,
And that dumb companion eying,
Caroline Elizabeth Norton.
It was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.