Page:Poems Kimball.djvu/321

The King's Surveyor once was he;
In the forest on many a noble tree,
Ere the Red Coats the conquering Colonists met,
The royal arrow he loftily set.

But when he could serve his King no more,
And his silver lace was a thing of yore,
He opened a stable—the proud old Tory—
And fed his pride on his former glory.

Now close was he as the bark to the tree,
And the older he grew the worse grew he;
The rickety coach and the unshod brute
Soon brought his stalls into disrepute.

One by one and day by day
Shepherd's patrons fell away;
But his lank-ribbed horses, as odd as himself,
He would not part with for love or pelf.

A queer old man he was indeed!
In the Portsmouth "Rambles" you may read
How he dwelt for years in his hut alone,
Old saddles and trappings round him strewn;

Old sleighs, old coaches, old chaises beside,
Wherein even ghosts would not risk them to ride
And around his shanty far and near
Wheels and axles and useless gear.