68 



The brawny butcher aims the barb rous blow. 

 Full on the front the ponderous weight descends, 

 Through hair, skull, brains, resistless passage 



rends 



As struck by fiery missive from the skies, 

 Falls the crushed brute, and bleeding, quivering 



lies 



In one long sigh expels his struggling breath 

 Then sinks supine his giant frame in death. 

 For thee, the pheasant, as the aerial blue 

 He cleaves rejoicing, when at length in view 

 Of piping brood, his daily, sweetest care, 

 Hastening with them his gathered toils to share ; 

 Struck to the heart, receives the leaden death, 

 And stiffening lies upon the ensanguined heath. 



Thy fiery mandate bathes the earth in blood, 

 Thy life is death all Nature s tears thy food 

 Insatiate tyrant ! will not these suffice, 

 Will these not fill the bloody sacrifice ? 

 Must shell-fish too, that mild, innocuous race, 

 More victims yield to feed thy wild caprice ? 

 More victims yield to that absorbing power, 

 That craves all things organic to devour ? 

 Alas ! for thee, must mild moluscules bleed, 

 Must they too fall thy pampered maw to feed ? 



