A little monkey,
Dusky, ugly, sad,
Sat hopeless, curled
Within his narrow cage;
Dark was the stifling room,
No joy he had;
The sick air rang
With tones of pain and rage.
From many a prisoned
Creature held for sale,
Stolen from the happy
Freedom of its life:
Dull drooping birds,
That uttered shriek and wail,
And beast and reptile
Full of woe and strife.
Into the place
A cheerful presence came,
And kind eyes lighted
On the monkey small;
Straightway the weary
World was not the same
Such fortune did
The little thing befall.
Safe in a basket
Fastened, he was sent
Across the city,
Trembling and afraid.
But once he saw his new home,
What sweet content
Was his, while petted
And caressed, he played.
A week of bliss,
Alas! that it should end!
He had forgotten
Darkness, pain, and all;
But there were monkeys
Finer than our friend,
His master's eyes
On such a one must fall!
So fate had ordered,
And the frisky sprite,
Dun-coloured, grey,
And streaked with cinnamon,
Born in far bright Brazil,
Was bought at sight,
And all the first
Poor pet's fortune won.
They brought into
The bright and cheerful room
The basket small
In which he had been borne
To such a happy life.
He saw his doom
At once, the misery
Of his lot forlorn.
The moment that
The basket met his sight,
He dropped his head,
And hid his sorrowing eyes
Against his arm,
Nor looked to left nor right,
As any thinking
Human creature wise.
They took him back
Into his noisome den,
His tiny face
Concealed as if he wept,
So helpless to resist.
Heroic men
Might such despairing
Patient calm have kept.
Poor little thing!
And if he lingers yet,
Or death has ended
Life so hard to bear
I know not;
But I never can forget
His brief rejoicing
And his mute despair.
[Illustration: Our Own Jacko.]
[Page 166--Gee Gee Land]
[Illustration: Girl on Horse-Drawn Cart.]