Of maladies? Terrific pest! that
blasts
190
The huntsman’s hopes, and desolation spreads
Through all the unpeopled kennel unrestrained.
More fatal than the envenomed viper’s bite;
Or that Apulian[10] spider’s poisonous sting,
Healed by the pleasing antidote of sounds.
When Sirius reigns, and the sun’s parching beams
Bake the dry gaping surface, visit thou
Each even and morn, with quick observant eye,
Thy panting pack. If in dark sullen mood,
The gloating hound refuse his wonted meal,
200
Retiring to some close, obscure retreat,
Gloomy, disconsolate: with speed remove
The poor infectious wretch, and in strong chains
Bind him suspected. Thus that dire disease
Which art can’t cure, wise caution may prevent.
But this neglected, soon expect a change,
A dismal change, confusion, frenzy, death.
Or in some dark recess the senseless brute
Sits sadly pining: deep melancholy,
And black despair, upon his clouded brow
210
Hang lowering; from his half-opening jaws
The clammy venom, and infectious froth,
Distilling fall; and from his lungs inflamed,
Malignant vapours taint the ambient air,
Breathing perdition: his dim eyes are glazed,
He droops his pensive head, his trembling limbs
No more support his weight; abject he lies,
Dumb, spiritless, benumbed; till death at last
Gracious attends, and kindly brings relief.
Or if outrageous grown, behold alas!
220
A yet more dreadful scene; his glaring eye
Redden with fury, like some angry boar
Churning he foams; and on his back erect
His pointed bristles rise; his tail incurved
He drops, and with harsh broken bowlings rends
The poison-tainted air, with rough hoarse voice
Incessant bays; and snuff’s the infectious breeze;
This way and that he stares aghast, and starts
At his own shade; jealous, as if he deemed
The world his foes. If haply toward the stream
230
He cast his roving eye, cold horror chills
His soul; averse he flies, trembling, appalled.
Now frantic to the kennel’s utmost verge
Raving he runs, and deals destruction round.
The pack fly diverse; for whate’er he meets
Vengeful he bites, and every bite is death.
If now perchance through the weak fence escaped,
Far up the wind he roves, with open mouth
Inhales the cooling breeze, nor man, nor beast
He spares, implacable. The hunter-horse,
240
Once kind associate of his sylvan toils,
(Who haply now without the kennel’s mound
Crops the rank mead, and listening hears with joy
The cheering cry, that morn and eve salutes
His raptured sense) a wretched victim falls.
Unhappy quadruped! no more, alas!
Shall thy fond master with his voice applaud
Thy gentleness, thy speed; or with his
190
The huntsman’s hopes, and desolation spreads
Through all the unpeopled kennel unrestrained.
More fatal than the envenomed viper’s bite;
Or that Apulian[10] spider’s poisonous sting,
Healed by the pleasing antidote of sounds.
When Sirius reigns, and the sun’s parching beams
Bake the dry gaping surface, visit thou
Each even and morn, with quick observant eye,
Thy panting pack. If in dark sullen mood,
The gloating hound refuse his wonted meal,
200
Retiring to some close, obscure retreat,
Gloomy, disconsolate: with speed remove
The poor infectious wretch, and in strong chains
Bind him suspected. Thus that dire disease
Which art can’t cure, wise caution may prevent.
But this neglected, soon expect a change,
A dismal change, confusion, frenzy, death.
Or in some dark recess the senseless brute
Sits sadly pining: deep melancholy,
And black despair, upon his clouded brow
210
Hang lowering; from his half-opening jaws
The clammy venom, and infectious froth,
Distilling fall; and from his lungs inflamed,
Malignant vapours taint the ambient air,
Breathing perdition: his dim eyes are glazed,
He droops his pensive head, his trembling limbs
No more support his weight; abject he lies,
Dumb, spiritless, benumbed; till death at last
Gracious attends, and kindly brings relief.
Or if outrageous grown, behold alas!
220
A yet more dreadful scene; his glaring eye
Redden with fury, like some angry boar
Churning he foams; and on his back erect
His pointed bristles rise; his tail incurved
He drops, and with harsh broken bowlings rends
The poison-tainted air, with rough hoarse voice
Incessant bays; and snuff’s the infectious breeze;
This way and that he stares aghast, and starts
At his own shade; jealous, as if he deemed
The world his foes. If haply toward the stream
230
He cast his roving eye, cold horror chills
His soul; averse he flies, trembling, appalled.
Now frantic to the kennel’s utmost verge
Raving he runs, and deals destruction round.
The pack fly diverse; for whate’er he meets
Vengeful he bites, and every bite is death.
If now perchance through the weak fence escaped,
Far up the wind he roves, with open mouth
Inhales the cooling breeze, nor man, nor beast
He spares, implacable. The hunter-horse,
240
Once kind associate of his sylvan toils,
(Who haply now without the kennel’s mound
Crops the rank mead, and listening hears with joy
The cheering cry, that morn and eve salutes
His raptured sense) a wretched victim falls.
Unhappy quadruped! no more, alas!
Shall thy fond master with his voice applaud
Thy gentleness, thy speed; or with his