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AM a kind of farthing dip,
Unfriendly to the nose and eyes;
A blue-behinded ape, I skip
Upon the trees of Paradise.
At mankind's feast, I take my place
I am the "smiler with the knife," The battener upon garbage, I — Dear Heaven, with such a rancid life, Were it not better far to die?
Yet still, about the human pale,
And when at length, some golden day, The unfailing sportsman, aiming at, Shall bag, me all the world shall say: Thank God, and there's an end of that!
ING clearlier, Muse, or evermore be still,
Sing truer or no longer sing!
No more the voice of melancholy Jacques
But as the boy, the pirate of the spring,
HE bed was made, the room was fit, By punctual eve the stars were lit; The air was still, the water ran,
No need was there for maid or man,
1 From Travels with a Donkey.
THE COUNTRY OF THE
E travelled in the print of olden
Yet all the land was green,
And love we found, and peace,
Where fire and war had been.
They pass and smile, the children of the
No more the sword they wield;
1From Travels with a Donkey.