The howling desert miles around, The tinkling brook the only sound -Wearied with all his toils and feats, The traveller dines on potted meats;On potted meats and princely wines, Not wisely but too well he dines.

The brindled Tiger loud may roar, High may the hovering Vulture soar;Alas! regardless of them all, Soon shall the empurpled glutton sprawl -Soon, in the desert's hushed repose, Shall trumpet tidings through his nose!

Alack, unwise! that nasal song Shall be the Ounce's dinner-gong!

A blemish in the cut appears;

Alas! it cost both blood and tears.

The glancing graver swerved aside, Fast flowed the artist's vital tide!

And now the apologetic bard Demands indulgence for his pard!