With all these hideous howlings to the skies,
I could be much composed, nor should appear,
For such a cause, to feel the slightest fear.
Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders rolled
All night, me resting 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 ass; for he, we know, has lately strayed,
And being lost, perhaps, and wandering wide,
Might be supposed to clamor 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-clawed,
And fanged with brass, the demons are abroad;
I hold it therefore wisest and most fit,
That, life to save, we leap into the pit."
Him answered then his loving mate and true, 105 But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
"How! leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave? For can we find it less? Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there we burst: 110 Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small: For with a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we.
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, 115
Or be it not, or be it whose it may,
And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongue
Of demons uttered, from whatever lungs,
Sounds are but sounds, 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 she spake, I fainter heard the peals, For Reynard, close attended at his heels By panting dog, tired man, and spattered horse, 125 Through 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 wondered that the silly sheep had found
Such cause of terror in an empty sound,
So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound.
Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day,
Live till to-morrow, will have passed away.
WHEN 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:
"Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
'Tis because resentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues.
"Rome shall perish, - write that word
In the blood that she hast spilled;
Perish hopeless and abhorred,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.
"Rome, for empire far renowned,
Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground, Hark! the Gaul is at her gates.
"Other Romans shall arise,
Heedless of a soldier's name;
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.
"Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land,
Armed with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.
"Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
Heaven awards the vengeance due;
Empire is on us bestowed,
Shame and ruin wait for you!
"Regions Cæsar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway;
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they."
Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.
She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow;
Rushed to battle, fought, and died;
Dying hurled them at the foe.
HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo;
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw;
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
On pippins' russet peel,
And, when his juicy salads failed,
Sliced carrot pleased him well.
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