"THE LADY'S FAREWELL TO HER ASININE STEED."
My donkey steed! my donkey steed! that standest slyly by,
With thy ill-combed mane and patchy neck—thy brown and
cunning eye,
I will not mount the Monné's height, or tread the gentle
mead
Upon thy back again: oh slow and wretched donkey steed!
The sun may rise, the sun may set, but ne'er again on thee,
Will I repeat the sorry ride from which at length I'm free;
I'd sooner walk ten thousand times, though walking would
be vain,
Than ever mount, my donkey steed, upon thy back again.
Perchance in nightmare's fitful dreams thou'lt amble into
sight,
Perchance once more thy cunning eye will turn on me its
light.
Again I'll raise my parasol—in vain—to make thee speed,
A parasol is nought to thee, my wretched donkey steed.
'Twas only when at my request some kindly hand would
chide,
Or sharply thrust a pointed stick against thy shaggy side,
That the slow blood that in thee runs would quicken once
again,
For though my parasol I broke, my efforts still were vain.
Did I ill use thee? Surely not! such things could never be!
Although thou wentest slowest when I fain would haste to
tea.
Creeping at snail's pace only—while I couldn't make thee
learn
That donkeys' legs were never made to stop at ev'ry turn.
At ev'ry turn!—such weary work—I knew not what to do:
Oh nevermore!—no, nevermore!—would I that ride renew.
How very wide thy jaws were kept—how far thrown back
thine ears,
As though to make me think thee ill and fill my soul with
fears.
Safe and unmounted will I roam with stately step alone,
No more to feel, on thee, such pains and aches in ev'ry bone:
And if I rest beside a well, perchance I'll pause and think,
How even if I'd brought thee there, I couldn't make thee
drink.
I couldn't even make thee move! Away, the ride is o'er!
Away! for I shall rue the day on which I see thee more!
They said thou wert so meek and good, and I'm not over
strong,
I took their kind advice, but oh! their kind advice was
wrong.
Who said I'd gladly give thee up? Who said that thou
were old?
'Tis true! 'tis true! my donkey steed! and I alas was sold.
With joy I see thy form depart—that form which ne'er again
Shall bear me up the mountain-side and fill my soul with
pain.
After such a potent warning posterity will doubtless avoid "donkey steeds" altogether.