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GOOD CHEER 147
Around me, where I guested ;
To be where loud life’s battles call
For me was well-nigh more than all
My pen on page arrested.
What ’s true and strong has growing-room,
And will perhaps eternal bloom,
Without black ink’s salvation,
And he will be, who least it planned,
But in life’s surging dared to stand,
The best bard for his nation.
I heard once of a Spanish feast:
Within the ring a rustic beast,
A horse, to fight was fated;
In came a tiger from his cage,
Who walked about, his foe to gauge,
And crouching down, then waited.
The people clapped and laughed and cheered,
The tiger sprang, the horse upreared,
But none could see him bleeding;
The tiger tumbling shrinks and backs
Before the horse’s rustic whacks,
Lies on his head naught heeding.
Then men and women hooted, hissed,
With glaring eyes and clenchéd fist
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