The Goose with the Golden Eggs 



A Poem by J. L. R., published in " The History of the Meynell Hounds and Country." 



With an Enooi by A. H. H. 



We lamed the nags, we maimed the men, we rolled them in the mire. 

 We killed the goose with golden eggs with thrice-accursed wire. 



{An old farmer dozes before the fire) 

 Can it really be November ? Can winter have begun ? 

 There's the usual loss of verdure, and the absence of the sun ! 

 Oh yes, there are the common signs ! But one, I find, we lack — 

 The huntsman's horn, the cheering cry, the music of the pack. 

 Oh, dull and drear's the time of year when nothing gives relief 

 From the settled gloom which follows the falling of the leaf ! 



Who lamed the nags, and maimed the men, and rolled them in the mire ? 



IVe killed the goose w^th golden eggs with thrice-accursed wire. 



Oh, what were trampled pastures, and, oh, what was damaged wheat, 

 Or poultry raised and fattened which the foxes used to eat? 

 Oh, what were broken fences, what was stock all gone astray ? 

 Great houses bought our produce then, great stables used our hay. 

 There was stir and animation, the country-side was gay 

 With all the pomp and glitter and pride of a hunting day ! 



Who mangled them, and tangled them, and rolled them in the mire ? 



We killed the goose with golden eggs with thrice-accursed wire. 



The halls are all deserted now where gentry used to be. 

 There's no one left but t' doctor, and t* rector, and Hodge, and me ; 

 There's no one rides about the land, and I miss the friendly nod 

 I got on hunting mornings, though the horse hoofs cut the sod. 

 Though many's the time I've grumbled, yet now I should rejoice 

 To see a smiling countenance and hear a cheery voice. 



Who lamed the nags, and maimed the men, and rolled them in the mire ? 



We killed the goose with golden eggs with thrice-accursed wire. 



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