I
THE Giant sat on a rock up high,
With the wind in his shaggy hair;
And he said, “I have drained the dairies dry,
And stripped the orchards bare;
“I have eaten the sheep, with the wool on their backs,”
(A nasty giant was he,)
“The eggs and the shells, the honey, the wax,
The fowls, and the cock-turkéy;
“And now I think I could eat a score
Of babies so plump and small;
And if, after that, I should want any more,
Their brothers and sisters and all.
“To-morrow I’ll do it. Ha! what was that?”
Said he, for a sound he heard;
“Was it fluttering owl or pattering rat,
Or bough to the breeze that stirred?”
Oh, it was neither rat nor owl,
Giant! nor shaking leaf;
Young Harold has heard your scheme so foul,
And it may come to grief!
One thing which you ate has escaped your mind,—
Young Harold his guinea-pig dear;
And he has crept up to try and find
His pet, and he shakes with fear;
He has hid himself in a corner, you know,
To listen and look about;
And if to the village to-morrow you go,
You may find the babes gone out!
