THE NEEDLESS ALARM. A TALE. THERE is a field, through which I often pass Thick overspread with moss and silky grass, Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood, Where oft the bitch fox hides her hapless brood, Reserv'd to solace many a neighb'ring squire, That he may follow them through brake and brier, Contusion, hazarding of neck, or spine, Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red, With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed; Nor autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray, With her chill hand the mellow leaves away; But corn was hous'd and beans were in the stack; Now therefore issu'd forth the spotted pack, With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats, With a whole gamut fill'd of heav'nly notes, Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. The sun, accomplishing his early march, And heedless whither, to that field I came, Or with the high-rais'd horn's melodious clang Sheep graz'd the field; some with soft bosom press'd The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the rest; To me their peace by kind contagion spread. But when the huntsman with distended cheek, 'Gan make his instrument of music speak, And from within the wood that crash was heard, *Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq. Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd, The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd, All huddling into phalanx, stood and gaz'd, Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round again; But, recollecting with a sudden thought, That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought, They gather'd close around the old pit's brink, And thought again—but knew not what to think. The man to solitude accustom'd long Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue, Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees, Have speech for him, and understood with ease; After long drought when rains abundant fall; He hears the herbs and flow'rs rejoicing all; Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, How glad they catch the largess of the skies; But, with precision nicer still, the mind He scans of ev'ry locomotive kind; Birds of all feather, beasts of ev'ry name, That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame; The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears He spells them true by intuition's light, This truth premis'd was needful as a text To win due credence to what follows next. Awhile they mus'd; surveying ev'ry face, Thou hadst suppos'd them of superior race; Their periwigs of wool, and fears combin'd Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind, That sage they seem'd as lawyers o'er a doubt Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out; Or academic tutors, teaching youths, Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; When thus a mutton, statelier than the rest, A ram, the ewes and weathers sad, address'd. Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard. Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. In Earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, All night, me resting quiet in the fold, Demons produce them doubtless, brazen claw'd, Him answer'd then his loving mate and true, But more discreet than he a Cambrian ewe. How! leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave! For who can find it less? Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there we burst; Or should the brambles interpos'd, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small: For with a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, Or be it not, or be it whose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of demons utter'd from whatever lungs, Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear, We have at least commodious standing here. Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast From Earth or Hell, we can but plunge at last. While thus she spake, I fainter heard the peals, For Reynard, close attended at his heels By panting dog, tir'd man, and spatter'd horse, Through mere good fortune, took a diff'rent course. |