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 |  |
The hardened poachers could not help but think;
But soon they took the quart, and swore “Let's drink!”
Ignotus vowed that was no time for fears,
The 'squire must have his score of living hares.
The rich Theander, grown by commerce great,
Had purchased with his wealth a wide estate;
Then down came ev'ry hedge, and ev'ry wall,
And ev'ry humble cot was doomed to fall.
Upon the rising hill each plan was drawn,
Of villa, gardens, grove, and sweeping lawn;
And planted were the trees of ev'ry hue,
The oak, the ash, the sycamore, and yew;
The fir, the larch, and plants not native here,
The poplar, with its waving leaves, was there.
The rills collected, formed a lake for trout,—
And who that has a park would be without?
With the high fence the whole was circled round,
But in the modern park no hares were found;
No pheasants in the new plantation bred,
Nor partridge chirruped its young brood to bed.
But what's the villa, garden, or park wall,
Except the hares are frisking round them all?
What pleasure in the grove and cooling breeze,
Except the pheasants glitter in the trees?
The partridge whirring from beneath our feet,
In our own grounds, is surely pleasure sweet!
So thought Theander,—who from poachers bought
With cheerful heart, all living game they brought.
But stop, my pen—O let it not be said
That great Theander would have bought them dead!
But soon they took the quart, and swore “Let's drink!”
Ignotus vowed that was no time for fears,
The 'squire must have his score of living hares.
The rich Theander, grown by commerce great,
Had purchased with his wealth a wide estate;
Then down came ev'ry hedge, and ev'ry wall,
And ev'ry humble cot was doomed to fall.
Upon the rising hill each plan was drawn,
Of villa, gardens, grove, and sweeping lawn;
And planted were the trees of ev'ry hue,
The oak, the ash, the sycamore, and yew;
The fir, the larch, and plants not native here,
The poplar, with its waving leaves, was there.
The rills collected, formed a lake for trout,—
And who that has a park would be without?
With the high fence the whole was circled round,
But in the modern park no hares were found;
100
Nor partridge chirruped its young brood to bed.
But what's the villa, garden, or park wall,
Except the hares are frisking round them all?
What pleasure in the grove and cooling breeze,
Except the pheasants glitter in the trees?
The partridge whirring from beneath our feet,
In our own grounds, is surely pleasure sweet!
So thought Theander,—who from poachers bought
With cheerful heart, all living game they brought.
But stop, my pen—O let it not be said
That great Theander would have bought them dead!
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |