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My heart's delight, judicious, pithy Horace,
Stand úp, ring finger; thou 'rt the Florentine,
And not kept drawing still unwholesome draughts
Stand úp here, little finger; thou 'rt the pensive,
Só, being a bóy, I used to count my fingers,
Walking from Sanct Anton on the ADLERBERG (German TYROL) to TEUFEN in Canton APPENZELL, Sept. 6—10, 1854.
“Whý 's a priest like a fingerpost, you dunce ?"
“He points the way, but never goes himself.” Walking from UNTERBRUCK to KREUTZSTRASSEN near MUNICH, July 4, 1854.
THERE was a curious creature
Lived many years ago;
For I myself don't know;
But 'twas a curious creature,
So délicately made
It scárce could bear the shade.
Its judgment was deféctive,
Its mémory was weak, Until it was two years old
Not one word could it speak.
Capricious in its témper,
And gráve by fits, then gay, It seldom liked tomorrow
The thing it liked today,
When 't mét a little trouble
'Twould heáve a doleful sigh, Clásp its forepaws together
And loúdly sob and cry;
And then when something pleased it".
'Twould fall into a fit And work in such convúlsions
You 'd think its sides would split With little taste for lábor,
And weáry soon of rest,
Which of the two was best.
So after a while's lábor
It woúld sit down and say: "This lábor is a killing thing,
I 'll work no more today.”
Then áfter a while's sitting
'Twould fóld its arms and cry: “Donothing 's such a weáriness
I'd almost rather die."
As fóx or magpie clever,
And fúll of guile and art, Its chiefest study ever
Was hów to hide its heart;
And seldom through its features
Could you its thoughts discern, Or whát its feelings towards you
From words or manner learn.
Fierce, únrelenting, cruel,
Bloodshed was its delight;
From mórning until night;
All kinds of beasts, birds, fishes,
'Twould fall upon and kill, And not even its own like spare,
Its húngry maw to fill;
And when it could no more eat
But was stuffed up to the throat,
And on their anguish gloat.
Of imitative manners,
Ánd a baboon in shape,
It was a kind of ape;
But I would not believe it
Though depósed to upon oath
Wise men were ever loath;
And all the ancient récords
Likeness and son and heir,
That for some seventy years should
Live wickedly, then die
And flý up to the sky;
And there in the blue éther
With God for ever dwell,
When 't shoúld have been in hell.
Begun at Arco in the Italian TYROL, Aug. 24, 1854; finished while walking from CAMPIGLIO across the VAL DI Non and over the PALLADE to SPONDINI at the foot of the ORTELER, Aug. 29 to Sept. 2, 54.