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!
