of stories,
And in “Arabian Nights” soon glories.
Then each savage he delights,
Listening to tales about those Nights.
Tom’s influence no more it fails,
He reads to them those charming tales;
While with awe on him they look,
As he reads stories from the book.
Bomba Tomba, his eldest son,
He fame and fortune will soon won,
For he can tell them many a whopper
Of “Cinderella and Glass Slipper.”
And he is learning now to read,
So natives generous will him feed;
Thus he will retain their hearts,
When his father this life departs.
This tale a proof it doth afford
That pen is mightier than the sword;
In warriors no more they glory,
But in the man who tells the story.
No more they now each other drub,
Flourishing the warlike club;
Spears no more are used for stabbing,
Nor their javelins for jabbing.
Except when they do wish to feast
On the Hesh of some fat beast,
They reserve their bows and arrows,
To shoot the pigeons and sparrows.
All warlike arts they have forsook,
And reverence the man with book;
Peaceful arts they all now prize,
For Christian truths hath made them wise.
For Tom impressed them with Christ’s love,
And they all hope for Heaven above;
Bomba Tomba is now crowned King,
Of him will future poets sing.
Fox Hunt Yarn
This my adventure is no hoax;
I mounted horse to hunt a fox,
The cunning beast got into cover,
Hunting him we rode all over.
But my fine horse he stumbling fell
Down to the bottom of the well,
And thus the noble beast was slain.
My comrades scattered o’er the plain,
Knew not that in the depths profound
I was in deep hole underground;
While o’er broad fields they proudly course,
I was laying on my dead horse.
And from thence did often yell,
But no one came near to that well;
The carcass soon it did ferment,
And from it there went a strong scent,
Which attracted flock of buzzards,
And down they came to fill their gizzards;
Around four of them I did cling,
And made them fly aloft on wing.
But they flew higher than I wanted,
Though T was still quite undaunted;
I first let one buzzard slip,
Then another on downward trip,
’Till I arrived all safe and sound,
Without a scratch on solid ground,
But now no man can ever coax
Me to go hunting of a fox.
The King and Peasant
A pleasant tale we now will sing
Of an old peasant and the King;
The kind Italian King, Humbert,
With the gun is a great expert.
Peasant with wonder saw the King
Bring down the partridges on wing;
The peasant he doth sportsman praise,
Each shot it filled him with amaze.
The King he dearly loves to shoot
In plain garb without his suite;
He casts aside his Kingly fetters,
All his escort are two setters.
To farmer he doth chat pleasant
About the partridge and the pheasant;
He tells the King his chicken flocks
Are oft invaded by the fox.
And proposal he advances
For to give the King two francs,
If he the enemy will slay,
He cheerfully the sum will pay.
But he must come at early morn,
For then the fowls from coop are torn;
The King he came and shot reynard,
And peasant then gave him reward.
And he gave the King his breakfast,
His majesty enjoyed repast,
And kindly chatted to the dame,
Forgetting all his rank and fame.
Next day a carriage drove to door,
With gilt it was all covered o’er;
And liveried servant brought present,
Both for the wife and the peasant.
And now their thoughts do fondly cling
Around their kind-hearted King,
Who won their hearts while in disguise:
The fox he slew they greatly prize.
No more lost fowl they do bewail,
But glory in the fox fine tail;
They love to view him in glass case,
So they may cunning features trace.
It to them doth pleasure bring,
As it reminds them of their King,
Who did one morn at break of day.
Enemy of their chickens slay.
Spanish Donkey
In Spain full oft the little donkey
Is misehievous as a monkey,
But Spanish peasant owned a prize,
A donkey was both strong and wise.
Peasant drove him each day to town,
And sold his milk both up and down;
And where his customers did dwell,
The peasant he did ring door bell.
But he was struck down by fever,
And he was a strong believer
That the donkey milk could sell,
And at each house would pull the bell.
It really did turn out that way,
House without bell for them he’d bray;
And allowed the Spanishers
To unload his panniers.
When the town’s Mayor did hear the news,
He said no one must beast abuse;
And each measure out milk honest,
And truly they all acted just.
So thus the donkey milk did sell
Until the peasant he got well,
And we are happy for to say,
Each for his milk did honest pay.
Child and Horse
A mother driving out with child,
When the storm it blew so wild;
So keen the cold the mother felt,
She went to house to get a quilt.
And her little girl she snug lay
In the bottom of the buggy,
But as the horse it was not tied,
At a dog it got terrified.
And off it ran with the dear child,
Leaving mother in anguish wild;
She tried to follow up the horse,
But soon she got on the wrong course.
She searched all day, but found no trace,
’Till faint and weary with her pace;
And as the day draws to a close,
She fears her child it will be froze,
If she is not dashed to pieces
By the runaway, so vicious:
A horrid night the mother spent,
And many a prayer to Heaven sent,
That the Lord would save her dear child
From her numerous dangers wild;
It plainly shows the Lord did hear,
And spared the life of infant dear.
For it so happened that next day
Some boys who in the woods did play,
In place well sheltered by the trees
Where but slightly it did freeze,
These youths there found the buggy,
And horse it there beside it lay
With the child beside its breast,
It seemed as if it child caressed.
So lovingly within its arm,
As if protecting it from harm.
The mother came and thanked the Lord
That her lost child was now restored.
And even the runaway horse,
From his race was none the worse;
The beast the family highly prize
For its care of child so wise.
It seem’d as if little deary,
Of the buggy had grown weary;
And when the horse lay down to rest
She went and lay upon its breast.
While mother she was in alarm,
Her
