The Imprisoned Lion

The boundless desert is his home no more,
Within an iron cage he now must roar.

He, so debased, the desert's royal king,
To stand thus fettered by an iron ring!

To trifle with his sorrow let us cease;
'Tis desecration to disturb his peace.
If of his liberty he is bereft,
Its memory still be to his heart's ease left.

If to the tree his near approach be stayed,
Let him at least enjoy a little shade.

See in his mien what majesty is found.
And with what grandeur do his looks abound!

Although from him his liberty they took,
They could not take his proud, heroic look.

Even as the pyramid he seemeth grand.
Which towered above his own loved land.

His memory fondly leads him back again;
Once more is he upon his native plain,

That vast expanse of wilderness where o'er
The wild simoom hath raced with him of yore.

O glorious land! O happy days and sweet'
But hush! He hears the prison-keeper's feet.

And lo! the world of fantasy hath fled
When cruel keeper smites him on the head-

A stick — and such a boy commands him now
O heavenly powers to this he has to bow.

Hath he become so pitiful and poor,
This deepest degradation to endure?

Behold the stupid herd, the gaping crowd
At his humiliation laugh aloud.

How dare they breathe, for should he break his

chain
Nn soul of them from hell-fire would remain!