The howling desert miles around...

The howling desert miles around, The tinkling brook the only sound - Wearied with all his toils and feats, The traveller dines on potted meats; On potted meats and princely wines, Not wisely but too well he dines.

The brindled Tiger loud may roar, High may the hovering Vulture soar; Alas! regardless of them all, Soon shall the empurpled glutton sprawl - Soon, in the desert's hushed repose, Shall trumpet tidings through his nose! Alack, unwise! that nasal song Shall be the Ounce's dinner-gong!

A blemish in the cut appears; Alas! it cost both blood and tears. The glancing graver swerved aside, Fast flowed the artist's vital tide! And now the apologetic bard Demands indulgence for his pard!