Page 26 - Poetry-Animals

He seized her offspring right before her eyes,
Took the three best, the ones she prized the most,
And, to the mother’s infinite surprise,
Vanished around the corner like a ghost!

And, while she hurried after him to say,
“Spare, spare my children, and be ever blest!”
A weasel, who had seen no food that day,
Happened to tramp along, and sucked the rest.

— Cupid Jones (Century Magazine, 1885)

My Rival

How I hate to see him there,
With his haughty, well-bred air,
At her side,
Looking with a scornful eye
At poor me, as I walk by
While they ride.

Well I know he is not worth,
Spite of all his pride of birth,
Such a favor;
And I think, as I advance,
Of that calculating glance
That he gave her.

Lady dear, he cares for naught
But the things which may be bought
With your pelf;
In his thoughts you have no part,
And his cold and sluggish heart
Beats for self.

Yet how glad I’d be and gay
If you’d treat me in the way
You treat him.
‘Twould with heaven itself surround me,
And the sad old world around me
Would grow dim.

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