Every Girl's Library - BestLightNovel.com
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Their lines into the brook they launch; He lays his cloak upon a branch, To guarantee his Lady Blanche 's delicate complexion: He takes his rapier from his haunch, That beardless doughty champion staunch; He'd drill it through the rival's paunch That question'd his affection!
O heedless pair of sportsmen slack!
You never mark, though trout or jack, Or little foolish stickleback, Your baited snares may capture.
What care has _she_ for line or hook?
She turns her back upon the brook, Upon her lover's eyes to look In sentimental rapture.
O loving pair! as thus I gaze Upon the girl who smiles always, The little hand that ever plays Upon the lover's shoulder; In looking at your pretty shapes, A sort of envious wish escapes (Such as the Fox had for the Grapes) The Poet your beholder.
To be brave, handsome, twenty-two; With nothing else on earth to do.
But all day long to bill and coo: It were a pleasant calling.
And had I such a partner sweet; A tender heart for mine to beat, A gentle hand my clasp to meet; I'd let the world flow at my feet, And never heed its brawling.
POCAHONTAS
Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight: Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight.
Hark! a cry of triumph shrill Through the wilderness resounds, As, with twenty bleeding wounds, Sinks the warrior, fighting still.
Now they heap the fatal pyre, And the torch of death they light Oh! 'tis hard to die of fire!
Who will s.h.i.+eld the captive knight?
Round the stake with fiendish cry Wheel and dance the savage crowd, Cold the victim's mien, and proud, And his breast is bared to die.
Who will s.h.i.+eld the fearless heart?
Who avert the murderous blade?
From the throng, with sudden start, See there springs an Indian maid!
Quick she stands before the knight, "Loose the chain, unbind the ring, I am daughter of the king, And I claim the Indian right!"
Dauntless aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife; Fondly to his heart she clings, And her bosom guards his life!
In the woods of Powhattan, Still 'tis told by Indian fires, How a daughter of their sires Saved the captive Englishman.
