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O'er sup-baked plains he winds his way, Slow squirms his glittering length along, And from the sage brush sanded gray, Doth come his fearful warning song. Watch, watch for him, his sting is death, And in those angry, flaming eyes Doth lurk the awful hate of years. Sunning where the barren bluffs arise, Ht lies in lazy coil. The scaly lid Doth curtain o*er those vengeful eyes; Doth hold their murderous fire hid— When lo, a step is heard, the horrid head Is swiftly reared and keen he sounds His challenge full of deathless hate.