The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
No distant parks but ev'ry shade he knew,
From whence at morn the waking pheasants flew;
The lonely streams where speckled fishes played,
And where the hares upon the mountains fed.
The dark brown heath, upon the trackless moor,
With dog and gun he often travell'd o'er;
In winter's frost, upon some rocky spot,
He called the list'ning grouse within his shot,
Then on his upraised knee he levelled true,—
The trigger pulled,—the moor-cock never flew:
But now—the hares may feed, the fishes play,
The pheasants sleep upon the lofty spray;
The grouse, secure, may in the rushes rest,
The speckled pairs of partridge form their nest;
The keepers now their watchings may give o'er,
Ignotus, prince of poachers, is no more!
From whence at morn the waking pheasants flew;
The lonely streams where speckled fishes played,
And where the hares upon the mountains fed.
The dark brown heath, upon the trackless moor,
With dog and gun he often travell'd o'er;
In winter's frost, upon some rocky spot,
He called the list'ning grouse within his shot,
Then on his upraised knee he levelled true,—
The trigger pulled,—the moor-cock never flew:
But now—the hares may feed, the fishes play,
The pheasants sleep upon the lofty spray;
The grouse, secure, may in the rushes rest,
The speckled pairs of partridge form their nest;
The keepers now their watchings may give o'er,
Ignotus, prince of poachers, is no more!
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |