Page:Wee wee songs for our little pets.djvu/142



the door of his house a planter stood,
 * In fair Virginia's clime,

When the setting sun had tinged the wood
 * With its golden hue sublime.

The lands of this planter were broadly spread,
 * He lacked not gold or gear,

And his house had plenty of meat and bread
 * To make them goodly cheer.

An Indian came from the forest deep,
 * A hunter in weary plight,

Who in humble accents asked to sleep
 * 'Neath the planter's roof that night.

To the Indian's need he took no heed,
 * But forbade his longer stay;

"Then give me," he said, "but a crust of bread,
 * And I'll travel on my way."

In wrath the planter this denied,
 * Forgetting the golden rule;

"Then give me, for mercy's sake," he cried,
 * "A cup of water cool.

"All day I have travell'd o'er fen and bog,
 * In chase of the bounding deer;"