With rapid start,
And forward dart,
As when it left the cannon,
Along the ground,
With swift rebound,
The cannon-ball it ran on.
Through hill and dale,
Through many a vale,
Through country, town, and village:
Now onward borne,
Through fields of corn,
Rich recompense for tillage.
Still hop, hop, hop,
No pause nor stop,
O’er precipice and mountain,
Through briar and brake,
Through pool and lake,
By stream and sparkling fountain.
Across the plain,
Along the main,
Of ocean loudly roaring,
Now here, now there,
Now in the air
Like swallow lightly soaring.
And still hop, hop.
No pause nor stop,
The cannon ball it ran on,
With swift rebound,
Along the ground,
As when it left the cannon.
Along the ground,
Through hill and mound
It passed, no pause nor warning,
When, see! oh see!
Beneath a tree,
A lion grimly yawning!
Deep yawning, grim,
Of massive limb,
And jaws with blood be-spattered:
While all around,
Upon the ground,
White skulls and bones were scattered.
With rapid bound,
Along the ground,
The cannon ball did fly on,
No pause, nor stop,
Till it entered, pop!
The deep throat of the lion.
Two chokes, one howl,
A stifled growl,
It died without a struggle:
And the only sound
That was heard around
Was its last expiring guggle.
B. B.