Long ere the farmer reach’d this den
The wolfish feast was past:
He mourn’d his lost one, but ’twas vain,
And said—“This is thy last.”
Six rough-hair’d terriers, fresh from sleep,
All eager for the fray,
Compell’d the laughing fiend to weep
Before it was noon-day.
The clacking of each battle dog
Surprised the sharp-nosed thief;