Fables in Song By Robert Lord Lytton |
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IV. |
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VII. |
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VIII. |
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XVI. |
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XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
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XX. |
XXI. |
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XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
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XXVI. |
XXVII. |
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XXVIII. |
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XXIX. |
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XXX. |
XXXI. |
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XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
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XLIII. |
XLIV. |
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XLV. |
XLVI. |
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II. |
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IV. | PART IV. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
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IV. |
L. |
LI. |
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LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
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LVI. |
LVII. |
LVIII. |
LIX. |
LX. |
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II. |
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IV. |
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VII. |
Fables in Song | ||
IV. PART IV.
Roaring with wrath and outraged pride,
Haroun, the lordly Lion, sprung.
The little Emmet slipp'd aside,
And hid himself the grass among.
The Snail, who could not go so quick,
Pull'd his four timorous standards down,
Swallow'd himself, and (terror-sick)
Was to a mere saliva grown.
Haroun, the lordly Lion, sprung.
The little Emmet slipp'd aside,
And hid himself the grass among.
The Snail, who could not go so quick,
Pull'd his four timorous standards down,
Swallow'd himself, and (terror-sick)
Was to a mere saliva grown.
The royal Lion, in its base distress,
The wretched creature saw,
He could have crusht it into nothingness,
With one stroke of his paw.
In a cold sweat lay Caracol. No doubt,
Master at home was he.
But master of his home, he now found out,
'Twas harder far to be.
The wretched creature saw,
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With one stroke of his paw.
In a cold sweat lay Caracol. No doubt,
Master at home was he.
But master of his home, he now found out,
'Twas harder far to be.
Howbeit, happily for Caracol,
Haroun the Lion, with a lion's whim,
Or else a monarch's scornful self-control,
Pass'd onward, musing, and so harm'd not him.
“A worm,” the Lion mused, “an abject clot
Of animated slime, that creeps infirm,
Is lord in his own house...and I am not?
Well...be it so! The worm is still a worm.
I am a king. Bah !...burrow and crawl...become
One with this earth's obscurest denizens,
To be...as they are...each in his own home
Master...of what? mere subterranean dens,
Or flimsy tenements...where they abide,
This—a sick jelly without even a spine,
That—a grimed drudge?” And the great Lion sigh'd
Sadly...“O Leontine! O Leontine!”
Haroun the Lion, with a lion's whim,
Or else a monarch's scornful self-control,
Pass'd onward, musing, and so harm'd not him.
“A worm,” the Lion mused, “an abject clot
Of animated slime, that creeps infirm,
Is lord in his own house...and I am not?
Well...be it so! The worm is still a worm.
I am a king. Bah !...burrow and crawl...become
One with this earth's obscurest denizens,
To be...as they are...each in his own home
Master...of what? mere subterranean dens,
Or flimsy tenements...where they abide,
This—a sick jelly without even a spine,
That—a grimed drudge?” And the great Lion sigh'd
Sadly...“O Leontine! O Leontine!”
Fables in Song | ||