THE BROWNIES IN RUSSIA.

    

And mark the many-
towered pile

That glowed in Oriental
style.

Once while they crossed
a lonely waste

A pack of wolves the
Brownies chased,

For miles and miles, well
was their need,

They scampered at their
highest speed

Through broken ground
of every kind

And still could hear the
howls behind,

Now sinking to a muffled
wail,

Now rising louder on
the gale,

Until the frosty hills

around

Gave answer to the awful sound.
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