Chapter 11 STONE WALLS DO NOT MAKE A CAGE

Oh, give me back my Arab steed, I cannot ride alone!

Or tell me where my Beautiful, my four-legged bird has flown.

'Twas here she arched her glossy back, beside the fountain's brink,

And after that I know no more-but I came off, I think.

More so-called original lines by aforesaid young English friend. But I have the shrewd suspicion of