’Twas dark, and the golden soul
Did thrash and roll in the forest;
All monsters were the people,
And they hid with disguise.

“Beware the Grande, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Azalea bird, and shun
The famous creatures!”

He took his silver sword in hand;
Long time the vicious foe he sought—
So rested he by the tall tree
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in perplex thought he stood,
The Grande, with eyes of flame,
Came tumbling through the rough wood,
And breathing fire as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The sharp blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went straight back.

“And hast thou slain the Grande?
Come to my arms, my brave boy!
O great day! hooray! hooray!”
He yelled in his joy.

’Twas dark, and the golden soul
Did thrash and roll in the forest;
All monsters were the people
And they hid with disguises