 | Denzil place |  |
Now, in truth,
Who would have thought Sir John L'Estrange's cob,
That trusty, confidential, animal,
Would throw his rider, or that being thrown
Poor dear Sir John would never rise again!
But so it was;—with little tufted tail
Uprais'd in air, and quick awak'ning ears,
Over the purple heather, unperceived,
Bounded away, to lay some other snare
The real malefactor; soft and grey,
A little downy rabbit, with no guile,
Or thought of all the changes that ensued
Because he bored his little hermit's hole
Just where Sir John L'Estrange's horse would tread,
Making that pleasant Monday afternoon
Sir John's last Monday in this world of sin,—
So full of snares, to count from rabbit-holes
Upwards, to those worse perils to the soul,
Which good Sir John, who liv'd a worthy life
Had ne'er encounter'd in his easy road—
For the jog-trotting of his trusted cob
Was emblematic of the quiet pace
With which he journey'd thro' the peaceful days
Ere Constance went abroad.
Who would have thought Sir John L'Estrange's cob,
That trusty, confidential, animal,
Would throw his rider, or that being thrown
Poor dear Sir John would never rise again!
But so it was;—with little tufted tail
Uprais'd in air, and quick awak'ning ears,
Over the purple heather, unperceived,
Bounded away, to lay some other snare
The real malefactor; soft and grey,
A little downy rabbit, with no guile,
Or thought of all the changes that ensued
Because he bored his little hermit's hole
Just where Sir John L'Estrange's horse would tread,
Making that pleasant Monday afternoon
Sir John's last Monday in this world of sin,—
So full of snares, to count from rabbit-holes
Upwards, to those worse perils to the soul,
Which good Sir John, who liv'd a worthy life
219
For the jog-trotting of his trusted cob
Was emblematic of the quiet pace
With which he journey'd thro' the peaceful days
Ere Constance went abroad.
So, he was gone
The kind old man with rosy apple cheeks,
And never more his “Ultra-Tory eye”
Will note the signs of danger from afar—
And we must hope that he has gone to dwell
Where all is order'd as he would approve,—
An absolute perpetual monarchy,
Where the Great Autocrat is King of Kings,
And where the subjects know no tyranny
Save the just guidance of a Father's hand.
The kind old man with rosy apple cheeks,
And never more his “Ultra-Tory eye”
Will note the signs of danger from afar—
And we must hope that he has gone to dwell
Where all is order'd as he would approve,—
An absolute perpetual monarchy,
Where the Great Autocrat is King of Kings,
And where the subjects know no tyranny
Save the just guidance of a Father's hand.
| Denzil place | |