 | Hunting Songs |  |
187
The Pheasant and the Fox.
A FABLE.
I
October strips the forest, we have pass'd the equinox,It is time to look about us,” said the Pheasant to the Fox;
“I cannot roost in comfort at this season of the year,
The volleys of the battue seem to thunder in my ear.”
II
“Time indeed it is,” said Reynard, “for the fray to be prepar'd,For open war against us has already been declar'd;
Two cubs, last week, two hopeful cubs, the finest out of five,
Within their mother's hearing chopp'd, were eaten up alive.
III
“Within our woodland shelter here, two winter seasons through,You and I have dwelt together in a friendship firm and true;
188
Cock-pheasant! what I covet is the privilege of wings.
IV
“To you the gift is perilous, in safety while you run,It is only when uprising that you tempt the levell'd gun;
Would that I could rid you of those wings you rashly wear,
And plant upon my back instead, a well-proportioned pair.
V
“Think of Victory defeated, as to triumph on she sped,Think of Boaster, terror-stricken, as my pinions I outspread;
Think of Crafty's baffled cunning, think of Vulpecide's despair,
Think of Leveller's amazement, as I mounted in mid-air!
VI
“To the Huntsman, when at fault, then I jeeringly would cry,‘Not gone to ground is the fox you found, but lost in a cloudy sky!’
189
And, lifting to one ear a pad, would halloo there, ‘Who whoop!’”
VII
“Thank you, kindly,” said the Pheasant, “true it is that, while I run,No worthy mark I offer to attract the murderous gun;
But say, should hunger pinch you, could a Pheasant-cock rely
On the abstinence of friendship, if he had not wings to fly?”
MORAL.
Self, Self it is that rules us all—when hounds begin to race,To aid a friend in grief would you resign a forward place?
When planted at the brook, o'er which your rival's horse has flown,
Don't you wish the rider in it, and the rider's luck your own?
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