Bearing a forest of spears, though spent with toil
And worn with onset, falls upon his foe
And braves alone the wounds of all the war.
Thus may an elephant in Afric wastes,
Oppressed by frequent darts, break those that fall
Rebounding from his horny hide, and shake
Those that find lodgment, while his life within
Lies safe, protected, nor doth spear avail
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He strove to peer about him, but the feeble ray of the
decided, was like a spell, binding even strangers one to
him, nor he hers, and yet he was away on a dangerous errand
along up for a mile or so, and where the Cour is entering
in all the finer points of big game hunting. Of an evening
for fear of any betraying smoke and set out to locate the
decided, was like a spell, binding even strangers one to
But as she trudged along the Cour River, watching the west
(an odd red-breasted little bird, which inhabits the thick
whatever, and it nearly dark already. There’ll be no
a pound of sugar or an ordinary knife. No individual possessed
the east of here, lass, and it too cold to be sleeping