We liked the bear's serio-comical face,
As he lolled with a lazy, a lumbering grace;
Said Slyboots to me--(just as if _she_ had none),
"Papa, let's give Bruin a bit of your bun."
Says I, "A plum bun might please wistful old Bruin,
For he can't eat the stone that the cruel boy threw in;
Stick _yours_ on the point of mama's parasol,
And then he will climb to the top of the pole.
"Some bears have got two legs, some bears have got more,--
Be good to old bears if they've no legs or four:
Of duty to age you should never be careless,
My dear, I am bald--and I soon shall be hairless!
"The gravest aversion exists amongst bears
For rude forward persons who give themselves airs,
We know how some graceless young people were mauled
For plaguing a prophet, and calling him bald.
"Strange ursine devotion! Their dancing-days ended,
Bears die to 'remove' what, in life, they defended:
They succoured the Prophet, and since that affair
The bald have a painful regard for the bear."
My Moral--Small People may read it, and run,
(The child has my moral, the bear has my bun),--
Forbear to give pain, if it's only in jest,
And care to think pleasure a phantom at best.
A paradox too--none can hope to attach it,
Yet if you pursue it you'll certainly catch it.