The Solitary, and other poems With The Cavalier, a play. By Charles Whitehead |
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 | The Solitary, and other poems |  |
To-morrow, Kirke is to be gone,
His fifty years of service done;
A nag bears him to Huntingdon,
His native place:—forsooth, when first
Over a cup, not drawn for thirst,
He talk'd his bargain o'er again
With the stout owner of a wain,
Of whom the beast was hir'd, his mind
Was to his rearing-place inclin'd:
He felt as one of humankind
Who hath near glimpses, and hath come,
The world's wide circuit, unto home.
His fifty years of service done;
A nag bears him to Huntingdon,
118
Over a cup, not drawn for thirst,
He talk'd his bargain o'er again
With the stout owner of a wain,
Of whom the beast was hir'd, his mind
Was to his rearing-place inclin'd:
He felt as one of humankind
Who hath near glimpses, and hath come,
The world's wide circuit, unto home.
| The Solitary, and other poems | |