rgot":

"'Me who have sailed
Leagues across
Foam haunted
By the albatross,
Time now hath made
Remembered not:
Ay, my dear love
Hath me forgot.

"'Oh, how should she,
Whose beauty shone,
Keep true to one
Such long years gone?
Grief cloud those eyes!--
I ask it not:
Content am I--
She's me forgot.

"'Here where the evening
Ooboe wails,
Bemocking
England's nightingales,
Bravely, O sailor,
Take thy lot;
Nor grieve too much,
She's thee forgot!'"

But even between his slow-drawled, shakety notes of deep and shrill Nod
listened for the least stir in the forest, and seemed to hear the low,
hungry calls and scamperings of Immanala's hunting-pack, which she had
summoned from far and near to the tangled ravine beneath the rock.

He got Battle early to bed by telling him he would dress his wounded
shoulder, which was angry and inflamed, with a poultice of leaves such
as his mother, Mutta-matutta, had taught him to make. "Now," says he,
"it be broad full-moontime, master, and all Munza-mulgar will be gone
hunting. But wake not. Nod, Prince of Tishnar, will watch;" and even as
he said it came remembrance of the Pigs to mind.

Battle laughed, thinking what wondrous good sense these two-legged
monkeys seemed to have, concerning which King Angeca had yet himself
often assured him that it is all nothing but a show and pretence, since
man alone has wisdom and knowledge, and little remains over for the
beasts to share.

The warmth and sleepiness of his big poultice soon set him snoring. And
in a blaze of moonlight Nod warily opened the door, and stood in the
squat black shadow of the hut, looking out over the forest. He had
bound himself up tight. He had wound up his Wonderstone in a piece of
lead that he had found in the hut to keep it from hopping in his pocket,
and had stuck the sailor's sharp sheath-knife down the leg of his
breeches.

Then, like but an Utt or a gnome in that great waste of whiteness, he
sallied out to destroy the Nameless. He came to the rock, but no shadow
couched there now in the sheen. He crept on all fours, and between two
great frost-lit boulders peeped into the ravine. There, changing and
stirring, shone the numberless small green lanterns of the eyes of
Immanala's hunting-pack. He heard their low whinings and the soft crunch
of their clawed feet in