2 THE SOLITARY REAPER We can show the marks he made Louder, louder chant the lay, Time, stern huntsman! who can balk, Gentle lords and ladies gay y! Sir Walter Scott. THE SOLITARY REAPER BEHOLD her, single in the field, No nightingale did ever chaunt No sweeter voice was ever heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 4 EPITAPH ON A HARE And to domestic bounds confined, Though duly from my hand he took He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, And, when his juicy salads failed, A Turkey carpet was his lawn, His frisking was at evening hours, But most before approaching showers, Or when a storm drew near. Eight years and five round rolling moons He thus saw steal away, Dozing out all his idle noons, And every night at play. I kept him for his humor's sake, My heart of thoughts that made it ache, But now beneath his walnut shade He, still more aged, feels the shocks Must soon partake his grave. William Cowper. |