Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/63

 By night we dragg'd her to the college tower From her warm bed, and up the corkscrew stair With hand and rope we haled the groaning sow, And on the leads we kept her till she pigg'd. Large range of prospect had the mother sow, And but for daily loss of one she loved, As one by one we took them—but for this— As never sow was higher in this world— Might have been happy: but what lot is pure? We took them all, till she was left alone Upon her tower, the Niobe of swine, And so return'd unfarrow'd to her sty. John. They found you out? James. Not they. John. Well—after all— What know we of the secret of a man? His nerves were wrong. What ails us, who are sound, That we should mimic this raw fool the world, Which charts us all in its coarse blacks or whites. As ruthless as a baby with a worm, As cruel as a schoolboy ere he grows To Pity—more from ignorance than will.