Reserved to folace many a neighbouring squire,
That he may follow them through brake and brier,
Contufion hazarding of neck or spine,
Which rural gentlemen call fport divine.
A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd,
Runs in a bottom, and divides the field;
Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head,
But now wear crests of oven wood instead;
And where the land flopes to its watery bourn
Wide yawns a gulf befide a ragged thorn;
Bricks line the fides, but shiver'd long ago,
And horrid brambles intertwine below;
A hollow scoop'd, I judge, in ancient time,
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.
Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red, With which the fieldfare, wintry gueft, is fed; Nor Autumn yet had brush'd from every spray, With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away; But corn was housed, and beans were in the stack, Now therefore iffued forth the spotted pack, With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and
With a whole gamut fill'd of heavenly notes,
For which, alas! my destiny fevere,
Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear.
The fun accomplishing his early march,
His lamp now planted on heaven's topmost arch,
When, exercise and air my only aim,
And heedlefs whither, to that field I came,
Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound
Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found,
Or with the high raised horn's melodious clang
All Kilwick* and all Dinglederry* rang.
Sheep grazed the field; fome with soft bofom
The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the rest;
Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook,
Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook.
All seem'd so peaceful, that, from them convey'd,
To me their peace by kind contagion spread.
But when the huntsman, with distended cheek,
'Gan make his inftrument of music speak,
And from within the wood that crash was heard,
Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd,
The sheep recumbent and the sheep that grazed,
All huddling into phalanx, ftood and gazed,
Admiring, terrified, the novel strain,
Then courfed the field around, and courfed it round again;
But recollecting, with a fudden thought,
That flight in circles urged advanced them nought,
They gather'd close around the old pit's brink,
And thought again-but knew not what to think.
The man to folitude accuftom'd long,
Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue;
Not animals alone, but fhrubs and trees
Have speech for him, and understood with ease;
After long drought, when rains abundant fall,
He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all;
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies,
How glad they catch the largess of the skies;
But, with precision nicer still, the mind
* Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq.
Birds of all feather, beafts of every name,
That ferve mankind, or fhun them, wild or tame;
The looks and geftures of their griefs and fears
Have all articulation in his ears;
He spells them true by intuition's light,
And needs no glossary to set him right.
This truth premised was needful as a text,
To win due credence to what follows next.
Awhile they mufed; furveying every face,
Thou hadst supposed them of fuperior race;
Their periwigs of wool and fears combined,
Stamp'd on each countenance fuch marks of mind,
That fage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt,
Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out;
Or academic tutors, teaching youths,
Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths;
When thus a mutton ftatelier than the rest,
A ram, the ewes and wethers fad address'd.
Friends! we have lived too long. I never heard
Sounds fuch as these, so worthy to be fear'd.
Could I believe, that winds for ages pent
In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent,
And from their prisonhouse below arise,
With all thefe hideous howlings to the skies,
I could be much compofed, nor should appear,
For fuch a cause, to feel the slightest fear.
Yourselves have seen what time the thunders roll'd
All night, me refting quiet in the fold.
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone,
I could expound the melancholy tone;
Should deem it by our old companion made,
The afs; for he, we know, has lately ftray'd,
And being loft, perhaps, and wandering wide,
Might be fuppofed to clamour for a guide.
But ah! those dreadful yells what soul can hear,
That owns a carcass, and not quake for fear?
Demons produce them doubtless, brazen-claw'd,
And fang'd with brass the Demons are abroad;
I hold it therefore wisest and most fit
That, life to fave, we leap into the pit.
Him answer'd then his loving mate and true,
But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
How? leap into the pit our life to fave?
To fave our life leap all into the grave?
For can we find it lefs? Contemplate first
The depth how awful! falling there, we burst:
Or fhould the brambles, interpofed, our fall
In part abate, that happiness were small;
For with a race like theirs no chance I fee
Of peace or eafe to creatures clad as we.
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray,
Or be it not, or be it whofe it may,
And rush those other founds, that seem by tongues
Of Demons utter'd, from whatever lungs,
Sounds are but founds, and, till the cause appear,
We have at least commodious standing here.
Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last.
While thus fhe fpake, I fainter heard the peals,
For Reynard, close attended at his heels
By panting dog, tired man, and spatter'd horse,
Thro' mere good fortune, took a different course.
The flock grew calm again, and I, the road
Following, that led me to my own abode, Much wonder'd that the filly sheep had found Such cause of terror in an empty found
So fweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound. Moral.
Beware of defperate steps. The darkest day, Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away.
HEN the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's Gods,
Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief;
Every burning word he spoke
Full of rage and full of grief.
Princefs! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
'Tis because refentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues.
Rome shall perish-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.
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