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THE KING OF THE CROCODILES.

PART II.

WICKED the word and bootless the boast,
As cruel King Crocodile found to his cost,
And proper reward of tyrannical might,
He show'd his teeth, but he miss'd his bite.

"A meal of me!" the Woman cried,
Taking wit in her anger, and courage beside;
She took him his forelegs and hind between,
And trundled him off the eggs of the Queen.

Το revenge herself then she did not fail,

He was slow in his motions for want of a tail;
But well for the Woman was it, the while,
That the Queen was gadding abroad in the Nile.

Two Crocodile Princes, as they play'd on the sand, She caught, and grasping them one in each hand, Thrust the head of one into the throat of the other, And made each Prince Crocodile choke his brother

And when she had truss'd three couple this way,
She carried them off, and hasten'd away,

And plying her oars with might and main,
Cross'd the river and got to the shore again.

When the Crocodile Queen came home, she found
That her eggs were broken and scatter'd around,
And that six young Princes, darlings all,
Were missing, for none of them answer'd her call.

Then many a not very pleasant thing
Pass'd between her and the Crocodile King:
"Is this your care of the nest?" cried she;
"It comes of your gadding abroad,” said he.

The Queen had the better in this dispute,
And the Crocodile King found it best to be mute,
While a terrible peal in his ears she rung,
For the Queen had a tail as well as a tongue.

In woeful patience he let her rail,

Standing less in fear of her tongue than her tail, And knowing that all the words which were spoken Could not mend one of the eggs that were broken.

The Woman, meantime, was very well pleased
She had saved her life, and her heart was eased;
The justice she ask'd in vain for her son,
She had taken herself, and six for one.

"Mash-Allah!" her neighbours exclaim'd in delight: gave them a funeral supper that night,

She

Where they all agreed that revenge was sweet,
And young Prince Crocodiles delicate meat.

THE ROSE.

BETWENE the Cytee and the Chirche of Bethlehem, is the felde Floridus, that is to seyne, the felde florsched. For als moche as a fayre Mayden was blamed with wrong and sclaundred, that sche hadd don fornicacioun, for whiche cause sche was demed to the dethe, and to be brent in that place, to the whiche she was ladd. And as the fyre began to brenne about hire, she made her preyeres to oure Lord, that als wissely as sche was not gylty of that synne, that he wold help hire, and make it to be knowen to alle men of his mercyfulle grace; and whanne sche had thus seyd, sche entered into the fuyer, and anon was the fuyer quenched and oute, and the brondes that weren brennynge becomen white Roseres, fulle of roses, and theise werein the first Roseres and roses, both white and rede, that every ony man saughe. And thus was this Maiden saved by the grace of God. The Voiage and Traivaile of Sir John Maundeville.

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And feels the noontide sun, and drinks refresh'd

The dews of night; let not thy gentle hand
Tear its life-strings asunder, and destroy

The sense of being !... Why that infidel smile?

Come, I will bribe thee to be merciful;

And thou shalt have a tale of other days,

For I am skill'd in legendary lore,

So thou wilt let it live. There was a time

Ere this, the freshest, sweetest flower that blooms, Bedeck'd the bowers of earth.

Thou hast not heard

How first by miracle its fragrant leaves
Spread to the sun their blushing loveliness.

There dwelt in Bethlehem a Jewish maid,
And Zillah was her name, so passing fair
That all Judea spake the virgin's praise.
He who had seen her eyes' dark radiance
How it reveal'd her soul, and what a soul
Beam'd in the mild effulgence, woe to him!
For not in solitude, for not in crowds,
Might he escape remembrance, nor avoid
Her imaged form which followed every where,
And fill'd the heart, and fix'd the absent eye.
Alas for him! her bosom own'd no love
Save the strong ardour of religious zeal,
For Zillah on her God had center'd all
Her spirit's deep affections. So for her
Her tribes-men sigh'd in vain, yet reverenced
The obdurate virtue that destroy'd their hopes.

One man there was, a vain and wretched man,
Who saw, desired, despaired, and hated her.
His sensual eye had gloated on her cheek
Even till the flush of angry modesty

Gave it new charms, and made him gloat the more.
She loathed the man, for Hamuel's eye was bold,
And the strong workings of brute selfishness
Had moulded his broad features; and she fear'd
The bitterness of wounded vanity

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