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.