126 JHoss. 
The docile, swift Reindeer! Oh, when I was a child, 
I loved all strange fantastic tales, the wondrous and the 
wild; 
I read about the “Hundred Nights,” in the Arabian 
Tales, 
That tell of Genii, sprites, and dwarfs, of gold and dia¬ 
mond vales. 
I read of Eastern gardens and palaces so rare, 
And of Sultans and Sultanas, the cruel and the fair. 
I read of Robin Crusoe! Ah! how I loved that book! 
Nor even yet hath its strong charm wholly my mind 
forsook. 
I read of voyages without end; of travels many too, 
And fairy-tales and story-books—of these, good sooth, 
not few. 
But I remember, more than all, I loved to think and 
hear 
Of thee—thou strong and beautiful—thou swift and 
good Reindeer! 
I remember in my earliest home, a dim antique beaufet, 
And high upon its many shelves, things manifold were 
set. 
Some piles of dark old books there were, amid the 
motley crowd, 
And when tall enough to reach them, oh! glad was I, 
and proud. 
And there I found old JEsop, whose fables we all know, 
And Cookery-books of ancient dates, most grim and 
well worn too. 
These I just peeped at, and put back—and still went 
groping on 
Deep into that small mine of wealth that Iso late had won. 
