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The lion's cub

with other verse
Stoddard, Richard Henry (1825-1903)

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LIBER AMORIS.
 1. 
I.
 2. 
II.
 3. 
III.
 4. 
IV.
 5. 
V.
 6. 
VI.
 7. 
VII.
 8. 
VIII.
 9. 
IX.
 10. 
X.
 11. 
XI.
 12. 
XII.
 13. 
XIII.
  
THROUGH DARKNESS.
  
THE GRAVES.
  
THE DOOR.
  
RICH AND POOR.
  
SUCCOR.
  
THE UNCREATED.
  
THE CHAPTER OF THE CROWN.
  
THE PILGRIMAGE.
  
THE WORDS OF SADI.
  
THE BOWL.
  
THE MOTHERLESS CHILD.
  
SPEECH AND SILENCE.
  
THE BLACK CAMEL.
  
ROSE AND VINE.
  
HE KNOWS.
  
THE END OF SONG.
  
THE BOOKS OF THE SIBYLS.
  
THE ROSARY.
  
THE NAME.
  
THE END.
  
THE MORALS OF MARCUS AURELIUS.
  
THE POTTER.
  
THE DEATH OF MOSES.
  
THE BRAHMAN'S LESSON.
  
MASTER ECKART'S SERMON.
  
THE CUP.
  
THE WALK AT NIGHT.
  
THE ANT.
  
LOVERS' HEARTS.
  
CLEON AND ÆGLE.
  
THE CAPTIVES OF CHARON.
  
A LAMENT.
  
THE PEARL.
  
NO JEWELS.
  
CARISSIMA.
  
AT DRACHENFELS.
  
AT MERRY MOUNT.
  
BIRDS OF A FEATHER.
  
GOOD-NIGHT.
  
WHENCE AND WHITHER?
  
THE ARCHETYPAL MAN.
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FOUR GAZELES OF HAFIZ.
 1. 
I.
 2. 
II.
 3. 
III.
 4. 
IV.
  
THE LADY OF THE EAST.
  
ROMANCES FROM GUSTAVO BECQUER.
  
OUT-OF-DOORS.
  
UNCERTAIN SOUNDS.
  
MUSIC.
  
A SAILOR SONG.
  
IMPLORA PACEM.
  
THE CAPTAIN'S SONG.
  
TO JULIA.
  
IN THE MEADOWS.
  
IN THE SNOW.
  
HOW AND WHY.
  
MORS ET VITA.
  
THOUGHT.
  
THE SINGER.
  
A FANTASY.
  
VOX CLAMANTIS.
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CHILDREN'S SONGS.
 1. 
I.
 2. 
II.
 3. 
III.
 4. 
IV.
 5. 
V.
 6. 
VI.
  
FATHER AND CHILD.
  
OUR FATHERS.
  
THOUGHTS FOR THANKSGIVING.
  
DECORATION DAY.
  
HAIR OF WASHINGTON.
  
TO MARY BRADLEY.
  
TO WILLIAM JAMES LINTON.
  
AT A DINNER OF ARTISTS.
  
AT WASHINGTON.
  
MORITURUM SALUTAMUS.
  
ON NEARING THE SECOND CATARACT.
  
THE CROSSING OF THE WAYS.
  
AT CONCORD.
  
AT ROSLYN.
  
THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON.
  
THE LEGEND OF FREY BERNARDO.
  
THE BRAHMAN'S SON.
  
THE LION'S CUB.

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A FANTASY.

Or worsted, or bettered,
In the combat of wit,
By lettered, or unlettered,
I cheerfully submit;
For, bumpkin or cit,
You must not think me cruel,
If winning this duel,
I parry with my poniard your misdirected wit.
For the weapon that I wear
Is le sabre de mon père,
Who fell at Quatre-Bras,
And was mangled by the paw
Of the gory British lion,
In sight of Waterloo, a happy field to die on,
83

In the rainy afternoon
Of that awful day in June,
To the foolish old tune—
I can hear it still afar—
Of Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre,
With its sonorous refrain,
That was never heard in vain,
Of “Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine.”
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