| Here lies, whom hound did ne’er
pursue, |
| Nor swifter greyhound follow, |
| Whose foot ne’er tainted morning
dew, |
Nor ear heard huntsman’s hallo’,
|
| Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, |
| Who, nurs’d with tender care, |
| And to domestic bounds confin’d, |
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
|
| Though duly from my hand he took |
| His pittance ev’ry 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
regal’d, |
| On pippins’ russet peel
; |
| And, when his juicy
salads fail’d, |
Slic’d carrot pleas’d
him well.
|
| A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
|
| Whereon he lov’d to bound, |
| To skip and gambol like a fawn, |
And swing his rump around.
|
| His frisking was at evening hours, |
| For when he lost his fear ; |
| But most before approaching show’rs, |
Or when a storm drew near.
|
| Eight years and five round rolling
moons |
| He thus saw steal away, |
| Dozing out all his idle noons, |
And ev’ry night at play.
|
| I kept him for his humour’ sake, |
| For he would oft beguile |
| My heart of thoughts that made it
ache, |
And force me to a smile.
|
| But now, beneath this walnut-shade |
| He finds his long, last home, |
| And waits in snug concealment laid, |
‘Till gentler Puss shall come.
|
| He, still more aged, feels the
shocks |
| From which no care can save, |
| And, partner once of Tiney’s box, |
Must soon partake his grave.
|
William Cowper
| Classic Poems |
| |
|
[ The Castaway ] [ Epitaph on a Hare ] [ Light shining out of darkness ] [ The Poplar-Field ] |
