Shall drag him trembling o'er the rugged ground: Then with his load fatigued, shall turn a-head, And with his curl'd hard front incessant peal The panting wretch; till breathless and astunn❜d, Stretch'd on the turf he lie. Then spare not thou The twining whip, but ply his bleeding sides Lash after lash, and with thy threatening voice, Harsh-echoing from the hills, inculcate loud His vile offence. Sooner shall trembling doves, Escaped the hawk's sharp talons, in mid air Assail their dangerous foe, than he once more Disturb the peaceful flocks. In tender age Thus youth is train'd; as curious artists bend The taper, pliant twig, or potters form Their soft and ductile clay to various shapes.
Nor is't enough to breed; but to preserve Must be the huntsman's care. The stanch old hounds,
Guides of thy pack, though but in number few, Are yet of great account; shall oft untie The Gordian knot, when reason at a stand Puzzling is lost, and all thy art is vain.
O'er clogging fallows, o'er dry plaster'd roads, O'er floated meads, o'er plains with flocks distain'd Rank-scenting, these must lead the dubious way. As party-chiefs in senates who preside,
With pleaded reason and with well-turn'd speech Conduct the staring multitude; so these Direct the pack, who with joint cry approve, And loudly boast discoveries not their own. Unnumber'd accidents, and various ills, Attend thy pack, hang hovering o'er their heads, And point the way that leads to Death's dark cave. Short is their span; few at the date arrive
Of ancient Argus, in old Homer's song So highly honour'd: kind, sagacious brute! Not ev'n Minerva's wisdom could conceal Thy much-loved master from thy nicer sense. Dying his lord he own'd, view'd him all o'er With eager eyes, then closed those eyes, well pleased. Of lesser ills the Muse declines to sing,
Nor stoops so low; of these each groom can tell The proper remedy. But O! what care, What prudence can prevent madness, the worst Of maladies? Terrific pest! that blasts The huntsman's hopes, and desolation spreads Through all the unpeopled kennel unrestrain'd, More fatal than the envenom'd viper's bite, Or that Apulian spider's poisonous sting, Heal'd by the pleasing antidote of sounds.
When Sirius reigns, and the sun's parching beams
Bake the dry gaping surface, visit thou Each eve and morn, with quick observant eye, Thy panting pack. If in dark sullen mood The glouting hound refuse his wonted meal, 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 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, benumb'd; till death at last Gracious attends, and kindly brings relief.
Or if outrageous grown, behold, alas! A yet more dreadful scene; his glaring eyes 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 howlings rends The poison-tainted air, with rough hoarse voice Incessant bays, and snuffs the infectious breeze : This way and that he stares aghast, and starts At his own shade; jealous, as if he deem'd The world his foes. If haply toward the stream He cast his roving eye, cold horror chills His soul; averse he flies, trembling, appall❜d. 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, Once kind associate of his silvan 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 hand
Stroke thy soft dappled sides, as he each day Visits thy stall, well-pleased; no more shalt thou With sprightly neighings, to the winding horn, And the loud opening pack in concert join'd, Glad his proud heart. For O! 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 Alarm'd; the tender mother in her arms Hugs close the trembling babe; the doors are barr'd; And flying curs, by native instinct taught, Shun the contagious bane: the rustic bands 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; [gored, Till now with wounds on wounds oppress'd and 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 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
Huntsman! it much behoves thee to avoid The perilous debate. Ah! rouse up all
Thy vigilance, and tread the treacherous ground With careful step. Thy fires unquench'd 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 cauterize
The wound; spare not thy flesh, nor dread the event; Vulcan shall save when Æsculapius fails.
Here, should the knowing Muse recount the
To stop this growing plague: and here, alas! Each hand presents a sovereign cure, and boasts 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 Of leeches old, as soon as they perceive The bite impress'd, 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 cover'd him beneath The foaming surge, full many a fathom deep: A fate more dismal, and superior ills
Hang o'er his head devoted. When the moon, Closing her monthly round, returns again To glad the night; or when full-orb'd she shines High in the vault of heaven; the lurking pest Begins the dire assault. The poisonous foam Through the deep wound instill'd with hostile rage, And all its fiery particles saline,
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