HUNTING SONGS 



For two centuries then it was left to decay, 

 And its walls, weather-beaten, fell piece-meal away. 

 And his home grew so dull when the fighting was o'er, 

 The Wizard declar'd he could live there no more ; 

 Till the thought cross'd his brain that to cheer his 



lone days 

 Some playmates the power of his magic might raise. 

 So at sunrise one morn stepping forth from his cell. 

 He uplifted his wand and he mutter'd a spell ; 

 Each wave of that wand was seen life to infuse. 

 And the stones that it touch'd, all became kangaroos. 

 He had hung round the walls of his cavern inside 

 The armour of those who had fought there and 



died ; 

 Transforming those plates which long rust had worn 



thin. 

 He fitted each beast with a jacket of skin ; 

 Then pluck'd from each sword-blade its black leather 



sheath. 

 Which he twisted and stuck as a tail underneath. 



And there, as a shepherd sits watching his flock. 

 Sits this kangaroo keeper a-perch on his rock. 

 Invisible still, but his care night and day 

 Is to feed them and watch lest they wander astray. 

 Ever anxious, he guards them more tenderly still. 

 When the huntsman his pack has let loose on the 



hill; 

 And those hounds, terror-stricken, all riot eschew. 

 When they hear a strange voice crying, " Ware 



Kangaroo ! " 



154 



