Wlliam Gilmore Simms
The Simms Review (Vol 15: No 2) >> New Simms Poem >> Page 24

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Page 24

Poetry | 1863-12-23
Transcription And met, the foul puruer face to face;
Grim, with great mane, and massive in his might,
And ending, with a single stroke, the fight,
Grinding and rending folly in his turn !--
Then would the Tiger bleed, his shoulders burn,
And all his hope of life, in legs alone,
Make off, with sullen cry of "sauve qui peut;"
As if his comrades knew not what to do;--
Not seeing that Fox, and Wolf; and A pe, had gone,
From the first blush of the Lion, full in view!

The Tiger, not the most chivalrous brute,
And fighting less from moral than from blood,
Grows savage in the flight that keep him mute,
Till he can fasten on his brotherhood.
He rages silent, in his fearful race;
And Fox and Wolf outstrip him in hi flight ;
They have not back'd him with a show of fight,
When most he stood at bay in perilous case !
The meeting of the Synod will, that night,
Be stormier than was wont ; and Tiger mood,
Shamed, hungry and athirst, with shoulders sore,
Will need to soothe itself on other food,
Than Southland field or forest ever bore ;
And, reasoning on his allies and their courage,
He will be apt to seek new fields for forage !

Lions and Eagles, forsooth!--'Twas not for prey,
Like this, he bargained ! Wherefore should he roam,
Abroad for such rare feeding, when at home
Are pastures and fat cattle. Say not "nay,"
Good Fox, sweet Wolf, fond Ape. The raging Eye
Of Greed and Hunger finds provision nigh;
Easy to take; fat; luscious; choicest meat !
What wonder if the Synod pleads in vain
The ancient compact--"We'll go forth again--
"These Southern Geese are exquisitely sweet!""Geese.!"duot.h the Tiger with an angry roar,—
Showiog his shoulder, with its bleeding sore;
His back red mangied, and his bloody side,
And all his skin thick matted with his gore:--
"Go, if it please you, at these Southern Geese,
'Twill do you good--you'll feel it in your hide;
For me, I've no ambition more—no pride.
I have no longer appetite to greet
Calves, grown to Lions; and tho' Geese be sweet,
I've not the slightest wish their claws to meet. :—
No ! I will stay at home, yet kill and eat! "