“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!
II
Now, when to the village came Harold back
And told his tale so wild,
Then every mother she cried, “Good lack!
My child! preserve my child!”