n thee never;
With the thing at thy foot thou hast prick'd my throat,
And I'm quite undone for ever.

Murder, murder, the dragon cried,
Alack, alack, for grief;
Had you but miss'd that place, you could
Have done me no mischief.
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,
And down he laid and cried;
First on one knee, then on back tumbled he;
So groan'd, and kick'd, and died.

_Old Ballad_

CXLVII

_THE UNGRATEFUL CUPID_

At dead of night, when mortals lose
Their various cares in soft repose,
I heard a knocking at my door:
'Who's that,' said I, 'at this late hour
Disturbs my rest?' It sobb'd and cried,
And thus in mournful tone replied,
'A poor, unhappy child am I,
That's come to beg your charity;
Pray, let me in. You need not fear;
I mean no harm, I vow and swear;
But, wet and cold, crave shelter here;
Betray'd by night, and led astray,
I've lost, alas! I've lost my way.'
Moved with this little tale of fate,
I took a lamp, and oped the gate!
When, see! a naked boy before
The threshold; at his back he wore
A pair of wings, and by his side
A crooked bow and quiver tied.
'My pretty angel! come,' said I,
'Come to the fire, and do not cry.'
I stroked his neck and shoulders bare,
And squeez'd the water from his hair;
Then chafed his little hands in mine,
And cheer'd him with a draught of wine
Recover'd thus, says he, 'I'd know,
Whether the rain has spoilt my bow;
Let's try'--then shot me with a dart.
The venom throbb'd, did ache and smart,
As if a bee had stung my heart.
'Are these your thanks, ungrateful child,
Are these your thanks?' The impostor smiled.
'Farewell, my loving host,' says he,
All's well; my bow's unhurt, I see;
But what a wretch I've made of thee!'

_J. Hughes_

CXLVIII

_THE KING OF THE CROCODILES_

'Now, woman, why without your veil?
And wherefore do you look so pale?
And, woman, why do you groan so sadly,
And wherefore beat your bosom madly?'

'Oh, I have lost my darling boy,
In whom my soul had all its joy;
And I for sorrow have torn my veil,
And sorrow hath made my very heart pale.

'Oh, I have lost my darling child,
And that's the loss that makes me wild;
He stoop'd by the river down to drink,