13.
That active and intelligent
Policeman deemed that he was meant
Profound detective deeds to do,
And that repose was mean.
Now there was nothing to detect
Pomona Road along -
None faked a cly, nor cracked a crib,
Nor prigged a wipe, nor told a fib,--
Minds cultivated and select
Slip rarely into wrong!
Thus bored to desolation went
The Peeler on his beat;
He know not Love, he did not care,
If Love be born on mountains bare;
Nay, crime to punish, or prevent,
Was more than dalliance sweet!
The weary wanderer, day by day,
Was marked by Howard Fry -
A neighbouring philanthropist,
Who saw what that Policeman missed -
A sympathetic 'Well-a-day'
He'd moan, and pipe his eye.
'What CAN I do,' asked Howard Fry,
'To soothe that brother's pain?
His glance when first we met was keen,
Most martial and erect his mien'
(What mien may mean, I know not I)
'But HE must joy again.'
'I'll start on a career of crime,
I will,' said Howard Fry -
He spake and acted! Deeds of bale
(With which I do not stain my tale)
He wrought like mad time after time,
Yet wrought them blushfully.
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