Argument.

Whate’er of earth is form’d, to earth returns, Dissolved: the various objects we behold, Plants, animals, this whole material mass, Are ever changing, ever new: the soul Of man alone, that particle divine, Escapes the wreck of worlds, when all things fail. Hence great the distance ’twixt the beasts that perish, And God’s bright image, man’s immortal race. The brute creation are his property, Subservient to his will, and for him made. As hurtful, these he kills; as useful, those Preserves; their sole and arbitrary king. Should he not kill, as erst the Samian sage

Taught, unadvised, and Indian Brachmans now As vainly preach, the teeming ravenous brutes Might fill the scanty space of this terrene, Incumbering all the globe. Should not his care Improve his growing stock, their kinds might fail: Man might once more on roots and acorns feed; And through the deserts range, shivering, forlorn, Quite destitute of every solace dear, And every smiling gayety of life. The prudent huntsman, therefore, will supply With annual large recruits, his broken pack, And propagate their kind. As from the root Fresh scions still spring forth, and daily yield New blooming honours to the parent tree. Far shall his pack be famed, far sought his breed; And princes, at their tables, feast those hounds His hand presents, an acceptable boon. Ere yet the sun through the bright ram has urged His steepy course, or mother earth unbound Her frozen bosom to the western gale; When feather’d troops, their social leagues dissolved, Select their mates, and on the leafless elm The noisy rook builds high her wicker nest; Mark well the wanton females of thy pack,

That curl their taper tails, and, frisking, court Their piebald mates enamour’d: their red eyes Flash fires impure; nor rest, nor food, they take, Goaded by furious love. In separate cells Confine them now, lest bloody civil wars Annoy thy peaceful state. If left at large, The growling rivals in dread battle join, And rude encounter. On Scamander’s streams, Heroes of old with far less fury fought, For the bright Spartan dame, their valour’s prize. Mangled and torn, thy favourite hounds shall lie, Stretch’d on the ground; thy kennel shall appear A field of blood: like some unhappy town, In civil broils confused, while discord shakes Her bloody scourge aloft, fierce parties rage, Staining their impious hands in mutual death. And still the best beloved, and bravest fall: Such are the dire effects of lawless love. Huntsman! these ills, by timely prudent care, Prevent: for every longing dame select Some happy paramour; to him, alone, In leagues connubial join. Consider well His lineage; what his fathers did of old, Chiefs of the pack, and first to climb the rock, Or plunge into the deep, or thread the brake,

With thorns sharp-pointed, plash’d, and briers in-woven. Observe with care, his shape, sort, colour, size. Nor will sagacious huntsmen less regard His inward habits: the vain babbler shun, Ever loquacious, ever in the wrong. His foolish offspring shall offend thy ears With false alarms, and loud impertinence. Nor less the shifting cur avoid, that breaks Illusive from the pack; to the next hedge Devious he strays; there, every meuse he tries; If haply then he cross the steaming scent, Away he flies, vain-glorious; and exults, As of the pack supreme, and in his speed And strength unrivall’d. Lo! cast far behind, His vex’d associates pant, and, labouring, strain To climb the steep ascent. Soon as they reach The insulting boaster, his false courage fails, Behind he lags, doom’d to the fatal noose; His master’s hate, and scorn of all the field. What can from such be hoped, but a base brood Of coward curs, a frantick, vagrant race? When now the third revolving moon appears, With sharpen’d horns, above the horizon’s brink, Without Lucina’s aid, expect thy hopes

Are amply crown’d: short pangs produce to light The smoking litter; crawling, helpless, blind, Nature their guide, they seek the pouting teat, That plenteous streams. Soon as the tender dam Has form’d them with her tongue, with pleasure view The marks of their renown’d progenitors; Sure pledge of triumphs yet to come. All these Select with joy; but to the merciless flood Expose the dwindling refuse, nor o’erload The indulgent mother. If thy heart relent, Unwilling to destroy, a nurse provide, And to the foster-parent give the care Of thy superfluous brood: she’ll cherish kind The alien offspring; pleased, thou shalt behold Her tenderness, and hospitable love. If frolick now, and playful, they desert Their gloomy cell, and on the verdant turf, With nerves improved, pursue the mimick chase, Coursing around; unto thy choicest friends Commit thy valued prize. The rustick dames Shall at thy kennel wait, and in their laps Receive thy growing hopes; with many a kiss Caress, and dignify their little charge With some great title, and resounding name

Of high import. But, cautious, here observe To check their youthful ardour, nor permit The unexperienced younker, immature, Alone to range the woods, or haunt the brakes, Where dodging conies sport: his nerves unstrung, And strength unequal, the laborious chase Shall stint his growth, and his rash forward youth Contract such vicious habits, as thy care, And late correction, never shall reclaim. When to full strength arrived, mature and bold, Conduct them to the field; not all at once, But as thy cooler prudence shall direct, Select a few, and form them, by degrees, To stricter discipline. With these, consort The stanch and steady sages of the pack, By long experience versed in all the wiles, And subtle doublings, of the various chase. Easy the lesson of the youthful train, When instinct prompts, and when example guides. If the too forward younker, at the head, Press boldly on, in wanton sportive mood, Correct his haste, and let him feel, abash’d, The ruling whip. But if he stoop behind, In wary modest guise, to his own nose Confiding sure, give him full scope to work

His winding way, and with thy voice applaud His patience and his care; soon shalt thou view The hopeful pupil leader of his tribe, And all the listening pack attend his call. Oft lead them forth where wanton lambkins play, And bleating dams, with jealous eyes, observe Their tender care. If at the crowding flock He bay presumptuous, or with eager haste Pursue them, scatter’d o’er the verdant plain, In the foul fact attach’d, to the strong ram Tie fast the rash offender. See! at first, His horn’d companion, fearful and amazed, 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 even 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 oh! what care, What prudence, can prevent madness, the worst Of maladies? Terrifick 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 even 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 horrour chills His soul; averse, he flies, trembling, appall’d: Now frantick, 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 sylvan 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, 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, 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 rustick 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; Till now, with wounds on wounds, oppress’d 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 horrour 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 reigns. 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 means 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, philosophick Muse, the dire effects Of this contagious bite on hapless man! The rustick 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 superiour 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, Invades the arterial fluid; whose red waves Tempestuous heave, and, their cohesion broke, Fermenting boil; intestine war ensues, And order to confusion turns, embroil’d. Now the distended vessels scarce contain The wild uproar, but press each weaker part, Unable to resist: the tender brain And stomach suffer most; convulsions shake His trembling nerves, and wandering pungent pains Pinch sore the sleepless wretch; his fluttering pulse Oft intermits; pensive and sad, he mourns His cruel fate, and to his weeping friends Laments in vain: to hasty anger prone, Resents each slight offence, walks with quick step, And wildly stares: at last, with boundless sway, The tyrant frenzy reigns; for, as the dog, Whose fatal bite convey’d the infectious bane,

Raving, he foams, and howls, and barks, and bites! Like agitations in his boiling blood, Present like species to his troubled mind; His nature, and his actions, all canine. So, as old Homer sung, the associates wild Of wandering Ithacus, by Circe’s charms To swine transformed, ran gruntling through the groves, Dreadful example to a wicked world! See, there distress’d he lies! parch’d up with thirst, But dares not drink; till now, at last, his soul Trembling escapes, her noisome dungeon leaves, And to some purer region wings away. One labour yet remains, celestial Maid! Another element demands thy song. No more o’er craggy steeps, through coverts thick With pointed thorn, and briers intricate, Urge on, with horn and voice, the painful pack; But skim, with wanton wing, the irriguous vale, Where winding streams, amid the flowery meads, Perpetual glide along, and undermine The cavern’d banks, by the tenacious roots Of hoary willows arch’d; gloomy retreat Of the bright scaly kind; where they, at will, On the green watery reed, their pasture, graze,

Suck the moist soil, or slumber at their ease, Rock’d by the restless brook, that draws aslope Its humid train, and laves their dark abodes. Where rages not oppression? where, alas, Is innocence secure? Rapine and spoil Haunt even the lowest deeps; seas have their sharks; Rivers and ponds inclose the ravenous pike; He, in his turn, becomes a prey; on him The amphibious otter feasts. Just is his fate, Deserved; but tyrants know no bounds: nor spears That bristle on his back, defend the perch From his wide greedy jaws; nor burnish’d mail The yellow carp; nor all his arts can save The insinuating eel, that hides his head Beneath the slimy mud; nor yet escapes The crimson-spotted trout, the river’s pride, And beauty of the stream. Without remorse, This midnight pillager, ranging around, Insatiate, swallows all. The owner mourns The unpeopled rivulet, and gladly hears The huntsman’s early call, and sees with joy The jovial crew, that march upon its banks In gay parade, with bearded lances arm’d. This subtle spoiler of the beaver kind, Far off perhaps, where ancient alders shade

The deep still pool, within some hollow trunk Contrives his wicker couch; whence he surveys His long purlieu, lord of the stream, and all The finny shoals his own. But you, brave youths, Dispute the felon’s claim; try every root, And every reedy bank; encourage all The busy spreading pack, that fearless plunge Into the flood, and cross the rapid stream. Bid rocks and caves, and each resounding shore, Proclaim your bold defiance; loudly raise Each cheering voice, till distant hills repeat The triumphs of the vale. On the soft sand, See there, his seal impress’d; and, on that bank, Behold the glittering spoils, half-eaten fish, Scales, fins, and bones, the leavings of his feast. Ah! on that yielding sag-bed, see, once more His seal I view. O’er yon dank rushy marsh The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course, And seeks the distant shallows. Huntsman! bring Thy eager pack, and trail him to his couch. Hark! the loud peal begins; the clamorous joy, The gallant chiding, loads the trembling air. Ye Naiads fair, who o’er these floods preside, Raise up your dripping heads above the wave, And hear our melody. The harmonious notes

Float with the stream; and every winding creek, And hollow rock, that o’er the dimpling flood Nods pendent, still improve, from shore to shore, Our sweet reiterated joys. What shouts! What clamour loud! What gay, heart-cheering sounds Urge, through the breathing brass their mazy way! Not choirs of Tritons glad, with sprightlier strains, The dancing billows, when proud Neptune rides In triumph o’er the deep. How greedily They snuff the fishy steam, that to each blade, Rank-scenting, clings! See! how the morning dews They sweep, that from their feet, besprinkling, drop, Dispersed, and leave a track oblique behind. Now on firm land they range; then in the flood They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools, Rustling, they work their way: no holt escapes Their curious search. With quick sensation now The fuming vapour stings, flutters their hearts, And joy, redoubled, bursts from every mouth, In louder symphonies. Yon hollow trunk, That, with its hoary head incurved, salutes The passing wave, must be the tyrant’s fort, And dread abode. How these impatient climb, While others, at the root, incessant bay: They put him down. See, there he dives along!

The ascending bubbles mark his gloomy way. Quick fix the nets, and cut off his retreat Into the sheltering deeps. Ah, there he vents! The pack plunge headlong, and protended spears Menace destruction: while the troubled surge Indignant foams, and all the scaly kind, Affrighted, hide their heads. Wild tumult reigns, And loud uproar. Ah, there once more he vents! See, that bold hound has seized him; down they sink Together, lost: but soon shall he repent His rash assault. See, there escaped, he flies, Half-drown’d, and clambers up the slippery bank, With ooze and blood distain’d. Of all the brutes, Whether by nature formed, or by long use, This artful diver best can bear the want Of vital air. Unequal is the fight, Beneath the whelming element. Yet there He lives not long; but respiration needs, At proper intervals: again he vents; Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierced His neck; the crimson waves confess the wound. Fix’d is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest, Where’er he flies; with him it sinks beneath, With him it mounts; sure guide to every foe. Inly he groans; nor can his tender wound

Bear the cold stream. Lo! to yon sedgy bank He creeps, disconsolate: his numerous foes Surround him, hounds, and men. Pierced through and through, On pointed spears they lift him high in air; Wriggling, he hangs, and grins, and bites in vain. Bid the loud horns, in gaily-warbling strains, Proclaim the felon’s fate; he dies, he dies! Rejoice, ye scaly tribes; and, leaping, dance Above the wave, in sign of liberty Restored: the cruel tyrant is no more. Rejoice, secure and bless’d; did not as yet Remain, some of your own rapacious kind; And man, fierce man, with all his various wiles. O happy, if ye knew your happy state, Ye rangers of the fields! whom nature boon Cheers with her smiles, and every element Conspires to bless. What, if no heroes frown From marble pedestals; nor Raphael’s works, Nor Titian’s lively tints, adorn our walls? Yet these the meanest of us may behold; And, at another’s cost, may feast at will Our wondering eyes; what can the owner more? But vain, alas! is wealth, not graced with power. The flowery landscape, and the gilded dome,

And vistas opening to the wearied eye, Through all his wide domain; the planted grove, The shrubby wilderness, with its gay choir Of warbling birds, can’t lull to soft repose The ambitious wretch, whose discontented soul Is harrow’d day and night; he mourns, he pines, Until his prince’s favour makes him great. See there he comes, the exalted idol comes! The circle’s form’d, and all his fawning slaves Devoutly bow to earth; from every mouth The nauseous flattery flows, which he returns With promises, that die as soon as born. Vile intercourse! where virtue has no place. Frown but the monarch, all his glories fade; He mingles with the throng, outcast, undone, The pageant of a day; without one friend To sooth his tortured mind; all, all are fled. For though they bask’d in his meridian ray, The insects vanish, as his beams decline. Not such our friends; for here no dark design, No wicked interest, bribes the venal heart; But inclination to our bosom leads, And weds them there for life; our social cups Smile, as we smile; open, and unreserved. We speak our inmost souls; good humour, mirth,

Soft complaisance, and wit from malice free, Smooth every brow, and glow on every cheek. O happiness sincere! what wretch would groan Beneath the galling load of power, or walk Upon the slippery pavements of the great, Who thus could reign, unenvied and secure? Ye guardian powers, who make mankind your care, Give me to know wise nature’s hidden depths, Trace each mysterious cause, with judgment read The expanded volume, and, submiss, adore That great creative will, who, at a word, Spoke forth the wonderous scene. But if my soul To this gross clay confined, flutters on earth With less ambitious wing; unskill’d to range From orb to orb, where Newton leads the way; And, view with piercing eyes, the grand machine; Worlds above worlds, subservient to his voice; Who, veil’d in clouded majesty, alone Gives light to all; bids the great system move, And changeful seasons, in their turns, advance, Unmoved, unchanged himself: yet this, at least, Grant me propitious, an inglorious life, Calm and serene, nor lost in false pursuits Of wealth or honours; but enough to raise My drooping friends, preventing modest want

That dares not ask. And if, to crown my joys, Ye grant me health, that, ruddy in my cheeks, Blooms in my life’s decline; fields, woods, and streams, Each towering hill, each humble vale below, Shall hear my cheering voice; my hounds shall wake The lazy morn, and glad the horizon round.