THE OLD LION

The Old Lion stood in his lonely lair:

The sound of the hunting had broken his rest:

He scowled to the Eastward: Tiger and Bear

Were harrying his Jungle. He turned to the west;

And sent through the murk and mist of the night

A thunder that rumbled and rolled down the trail;

And Tiger and Bear, the Quarry in sight,

Crouched low in the covert to cower and quail;

For deep through the midnight like surf on a shore,

Pealed Thunder in answer resounding with ire.

The Hunters turn'd stricken: they knew the dread roar:

The Whelp of the Lion was joining his Sire.