POSTHUMOUS POEMS.
HORSE AND ASS.
A train was rushing along one day,
With carriages, engine, and tender;
The chimney vomited forth its smoke,
Like a dashing old offender.
The train pass’d a farmyard, and over the hedge
A grey horse, at the sound of the whistle,
Stretch’d out his head; an ass stood by,
Demurely chewing a thistle.
With wondering gaze the horse long stared
At the train; then strangely quivering
In every limb, he sigh’d, and said:
“The sight has set me a-shivering!
“I’m sure that if I by nature had been
“A chesnut, or black, or bay horse,
“My skin with the fright its colour would change,
“And make me (as now) a grey horse.
“The equestrian race is doom’d, beyond doubt,
“To be swept away in fate’s eddy;
“Although I’m a grey horse, I cannot but see
“A black future before me already.
“The competition of these machines
“Will certainly kill us poor horses;
“For riding and driving will man prefer
“Iron steeds, if so great their force is.
“And if man can get on without our help,
“Alike for riding and driving,
“Good-bye to our oats, good-bye to our hay
“What chance have we of surviving?