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SELECT POETRY

Tom was a bold adventurous boy,
And heard the dreadful tale with joy.

For he had learnt—in some far land,
How children catch the sleeping snake;
Eager himself to try his hand,

He cut a hazel from the brake,

And like a hero set to work,

To make a stout, long-handled fork.

Brother and sister then withdrew,
Leaving the nestlings safely there ;
Between their heads the mother flew,
Prompt to resume her nursery care ;

But Tom, whose breast for glory burned,
In less than half an hour returned.

With him came Ned, as cool and sly
As Tom was resolute and stout,

So, fair and softly, they drew nigh,
Cowering! and keeping sharp look-out
Till they had reached the copse, to see
But not alarm the enemy.

Guess with what transport they descried
How, as before, the serpent lay

Coiled round the nest, in slumbering pride;
The urchins chuckled o’er their prey,

And Tom’s right hand was lifted soon,

Like Greenland whaler’s with harpoon.*
Across its neck the fork he brought,

And pinned it fast upon the ground ;

Cowering—sinking by bending the knees,
Harpoon—a dart to strike whales with.