hand
Stroke thy soft dappled sides, as he each day
Visits thy stall, well pleased; no more shalt thou
250
With sprightly neighings, to the winding horn
And the loud opening pack in concert joined,
Glad his proud heart. For oh! the secret wound
Rankling inflames, he bites the ground and dies.
Hence to the village with pernicious haste
Baleful he bends his course: the village flies
Alarmed; the tender mother in her arms
Hugs close the trembling babe; the doors are barred,
And flying curs, by native instinct taught,
Shun the contagious bane; the rustic bands
260
Hurry to arms, the rude militia seize
Whate’er at hand they find; clubs, forks, or guns
From every quarter charge the furious foe,
In wild disorder, and uncouth array:
Till now with wounds on wounds oppressed and gored,
At one short poisonous gasp he breathes his last.
Hence to the kennel, Muse, return, and view
With heavy heart that hospital of woe:
Where Horror stalks at large; insatiate Death
Sits growling o’er his prey: each hour presents
270
A different scene of ruin and distress.
How busy art thou, Fate! and how severe
Thy pointed wrath! the dying and the dead
Promiscuous lie; o’er these the living fight
In one eternal broil; not conscious why,
Nor yet with whom. So drunkards in their cups,
Spare not their friends, while senseless squabble reigns.
Huntsman! it much behoves thee to avoid
The perilous debate! Ah! rouse up all
Thy vigilance, and tread the treacherous ground
280
With careful step. Thy fires unquenched preserve,
As erst the vestal flame; the pointed steel
In the hot embers hide; and if surprised
Thou feel’st the deadly bite, quick urge it home
Into the recent sore, and cauterise
The wound; spare not thy flesh, nor dread the event:
Vulcan shall save when Aesculapius fails.
Here, should the knowing Muse recount the means
To stop this growing plague. And here, alas!
Each hand presents a sovereign cure, and boasts
290
Infallibility, but boasts in vain.
On this depend, each to his separate seat
Confine, in fetters bound; give each his mess
Apart, his range in open air; and then
If deadly symptoms to thy grief appear,
Devote the wretch, and let him greatly fall,
A generous victim for the public weal.
Sing, philosophic Muse, the dire effects
Of this contagious bite on hapless man.
The rustic swains, by long tradition taught
300
Of leeches old, as soon as they perceive
The bite impressed, to the sea-coasts repair.
Plunged in the briny flood, the unhappy youth
Now journeys home secure; but soon shall wish
The seas as yet had covered him beneath
The foaming surge, full many a fathom
Stroke thy soft dappled sides, as he each day
Visits thy stall, well pleased; no more shalt thou
250
With sprightly neighings, to the winding horn
And the loud opening pack in concert joined,
Glad his proud heart. For oh! the secret wound
Rankling inflames, he bites the ground and dies.
Hence to the village with pernicious haste
Baleful he bends his course: the village flies
Alarmed; the tender mother in her arms
Hugs close the trembling babe; the doors are barred,
And flying curs, by native instinct taught,
Shun the contagious bane; the rustic bands
260
Hurry to arms, the rude militia seize
Whate’er at hand they find; clubs, forks, or guns
From every quarter charge the furious foe,
In wild disorder, and uncouth array:
Till now with wounds on wounds oppressed and gored,
At one short poisonous gasp he breathes his last.
Hence to the kennel, Muse, return, and view
With heavy heart that hospital of woe:
Where Horror stalks at large; insatiate Death
Sits growling o’er his prey: each hour presents
270
A different scene of ruin and distress.
How busy art thou, Fate! and how severe
Thy pointed wrath! the dying and the dead
Promiscuous lie; o’er these the living fight
In one eternal broil; not conscious why,
Nor yet with whom. So drunkards in their cups,
Spare not their friends, while senseless squabble reigns.
Huntsman! it much behoves thee to avoid
The perilous debate! Ah! rouse up all
Thy vigilance, and tread the treacherous ground
280
With careful step. Thy fires unquenched preserve,
As erst the vestal flame; the pointed steel
In the hot embers hide; and if surprised
Thou feel’st the deadly bite, quick urge it home
Into the recent sore, and cauterise
The wound; spare not thy flesh, nor dread the event:
Vulcan shall save when Aesculapius fails.
Here, should the knowing Muse recount the means
To stop this growing plague. And here, alas!
Each hand presents a sovereign cure, and boasts
290
Infallibility, but boasts in vain.
On this depend, each to his separate seat
Confine, in fetters bound; give each his mess
Apart, his range in open air; and then
If deadly symptoms to thy grief appear,
Devote the wretch, and let him greatly fall,
A generous victim for the public weal.
Sing, philosophic Muse, the dire effects
Of this contagious bite on hapless man.
The rustic swains, by long tradition taught
300
Of leeches old, as soon as they perceive
The bite impressed, to the sea-coasts repair.
Plunged in the briny flood, the unhappy youth
Now journeys home secure; but soon shall wish
The seas as yet had covered him beneath
The foaming surge, full many a fathom