Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт)
Grizzly
Coward,--of heroic size, In whose lazy muscles lies Strength we fear and yet despise; Savage,--whose relentless tusks Are content with acorn husks; Robber,--whose exploits ne’er soared O’er the bee’s or squirrel’s hoard; Whiskered chin and feeble nose, Claws of steel on baby toes,-- Here, in solitude and shade, Shambling, shuffling plantigrade, Be thy courses undismayed! Here, where Nature makes thy bed, Let thy rude, half-human tread Point to hidden Indian springs, Lost in ferns and fragrant grasses, Hovered o’er by timid wings, Where the wood-duck lightly passes, Where the wild bee holds her sweets,-- Epicurean retreats, Fit for thee, and better than Fearful spoils of dangerous man. In thy fat-jowled deviltry Friar Tuck shall live in thee; Thou mayst levy tithe and dole; Thou shalt spread the woodland cheer, From the pilgrim taking toll; Match thy cunning with his fear; Eat, and drink, and have thy fill; Yet remain an outlaw still!
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