“What noble beast in this abandoned state
    Lies here all helpless at Ulysses’ gate? 
    His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise: 
    If, as he seems, he was in better days,
    Some care his age deserves; or was he prized
    For worthless beauty? therefore now despised: 
    Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state,
    And always cherished by their friends the great.”

      Not Argus so (Eumaeus thus rejoined),
    But served a master of a nobler kind,
    Who never, never, shall behold him more! 
    Long, long since perished on a distant shore! 
    Oh, had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young,
    Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong: 
    Him no fell savage on the plain withstood,
    None ’scaped him bosomed in the gloomy wood;
    His eye how piercing, and his scent how true,
    To wind the vapor in the tainted dew! 
    Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast: 
    Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost.

Odyssey, Pope’s translation.

* * * * *

TOM.

    Yes, Tom’s the best fellow that ever you knew. 
          Just listen to this:—­
    When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through,
    And I with it, helpless there, full in my view
    What do you think my eyes saw through the fire
    That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher,
    But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see
    The shining?  He must have come there after me,
    Toddled alone from the cottage without

    Any one’s missing him.  Then, what a shout—­
    Oh! how I shouted, “For Heaven’s sake, men,
    Save little Robin!” Again and again
    They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall. 
    I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call,
    “Never mind, baby, sit still like a man! 
    We’re coming to get you as fast as we can.” 
    They could not see him, but I could.  He sat
    Still on a beam, his little straw hat
    Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes
    Stared at the flame with a baby’s surprise,
    Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept. 
    The roar of the fire up above must have kept
    The sound of his mother’s voice shrieking his name
    From reaching the child.  But I heard it.  It came
    Again and again.  O God, what a cry! 
    The axes went faster; I saw the sparks fly
    Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat
    That scorched them,—­when, suddenly, there at their feet,
    The great beams leaned in—­they saw him—­then, crash,
    Down came the wall!  The men made a dash,—­
    Jumped to get out of the way,—­and I thought,
    “All’s up with poor little Robin!” and brought
    Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide
    The sight of the child there,—­when swift, at my side,