I TELL the Tale of the Road, with scraps of gossip and curious lore,
With a laugh, or a sigh, and a tear in the eye for the joys and sorrows of yore:
What were they like, those sorrows and joys, you ask, O Heir of the Ages:
Read, then, mark, learn, and perpend, an you will, from these gossipy pages.
Here, free o’er the shuddery heath, where the curlew calls shrill to his mate,
Wandered the Primitive Man, in his chilly and primitive state;
Unkempt and shaggy, reckless of razor, of comb, or of soap:
Hunted, lived, loved, and died, in untutored and primitive hope.
For what did he hope, that picturesque heathen, hunter of fur and of feather?
For a Better Land, with weapons to hand, much quarry, and fine hunting weather.