FROGS AND MICE.
49
Oft down the wave he sank, and oft anon
Struggling uprose;—but Death would not be done.
His tail spread outward like an oar he plied
And while, "ye gods! oh! land me, land," he cried
A swart wave swamp'd him;—blustering, bluff, and stout,
At length he spake, and thus his tongue slack'd out:
"Not thus, not thus, the bull his love-freight bore,
With fair Europa bound for Crete's far shore:
Oh! would to heaven that on his back, the frog
Had ne'er up-perch'd my shivering frame—the dog!"
Dank grew his locks, beneath their dragging weight
He droop'd, thus muttering in the grasp of fate:
"Puff-chops, thy guile is registered—the shock
That hurl'd me from thee, wreck'd as from a rock.—
Caitiff! on land I am thy better far,
To cuff and kick, to wrestle, run, and spar5,
But no—by craft thou'st drown'd me in the deep;
Yet ne'er doth heaven's avenging eyeball sleep:—
Ev'n now the embattled war-mice bless mine eye,
Blood calls for blood, and Puff-chops' hour is nigh!"
He spake, and gasping mid the waters sank,
When Lick-dish, couch'd upon the mossy bank,
Espied his fate, and wildly wailing ran
Fraught with the tidings to the whiskered clan.
But when his fate they knew, from every eye
Flash'd fiercest wrath—then rose the gathering cry,
By hurrying heralds bruited wide, for all
At morn to muster in Crunch-crusto's hall:
Sire of poor Crumb-catch he,—whose clay-cold form,
Bleach'd by the wave and wasted by the storm,
Struggling uprose;—but Death would not be done.
His tail spread outward like an oar he plied
And while, "ye gods! oh! land me, land," he cried
A swart wave swamp'd him;—blustering, bluff, and stout,
At length he spake, and thus his tongue slack'd out:
"Not thus, not thus, the bull his love-freight bore,
With fair Europa bound for Crete's far shore:
Oh! would to heaven that on his back, the frog
Had ne'er up-perch'd my shivering frame—the dog!"
Dank grew his locks, beneath their dragging weight
He droop'd, thus muttering in the grasp of fate:
"Puff-chops, thy guile is registered—the shock
That hurl'd me from thee, wreck'd as from a rock.—
Caitiff! on land I am thy better far,
To cuff and kick, to wrestle, run, and spar5,
But no—by craft thou'st drown'd me in the deep;
Yet ne'er doth heaven's avenging eyeball sleep:—
Ev'n now the embattled war-mice bless mine eye,
Blood calls for blood, and Puff-chops' hour is nigh!"
He spake, and gasping mid the waters sank,
When Lick-dish, couch'd upon the mossy bank,
Espied his fate, and wildly wailing ran
Fraught with the tidings to the whiskered clan.
But when his fate they knew, from every eye
Flash'd fiercest wrath—then rose the gathering cry,
By hurrying heralds bruited wide, for all
At morn to muster in Crunch-crusto's hall:
Sire of poor Crumb-catch he,—whose clay-cold form,
Bleach'd by the wave and wasted by the storm,
