2 28 The Poets Beasts. 



" Poor pussy through the stubble flie?, 

 In vain, o'erpowering foes to shun, 

 The lurking spaniel points the prize. 

 And pussy's harmless race is run." 



Sometimes, however, the wound is not mortal, and several 

 poets refer with horror to the poor hare's maimed existence. 

 Notable among the humane protests against an unintentional 

 cruelty is Burns —  



" Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 



The bitter little that of life remains ; 



No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 

 To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

 Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest. 



No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 



The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

 The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

 Oft as by winding Frith, I musing wait 



The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 



I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

 And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate." 



It is looked upon as the most melancholy, limping, 

 trembling creature imaginable — intended, apparently, by 

 Nature for the exercise of beagles, and given an extra- 

 ordinary degree of craft in order to amuse greyhounds. 

 Some poets strangely pity it and, considering it already 

 sufificiendy afflicted by natural timidity and general help- 

 lessness, think hunting it is a shame. Their argument is 

 a singular one. " See how frightened the poor thing looks, 

 don't frighten it," and '• See how fast the unhappy wretch 

 runs away, don't run after it." " Poor is the triumph o'er 

 the timid hare," "o'er a weak, harmless, flying creature" — 

 such is the view taken of the sport by the minority, their 

 expressions of regret being often marked by true pathos, as 

 thus, in the " Deserted Village " — 



