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Article THE HORSE TO HIS RIDER; AN ELEGY, ← Page 2 of 2
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Horse To His Rider; An Elegy,
Bred in thy fields , I knew thy presence well , And ever ran thy smoothing hand to greet ; Then frisk'd along the daisy-sprinkled dell ' To shew thee early that my pow ' rs were fleet . To please thy fancy I with patience bent _ V ; iy velvet ear lo meet the Iron's heat ,
And all the torturing whims which Men invent . To tame and shape us to their ends compleati Fed in thy pasture , I with grateful speed Have been the foremost with the tuneful pack , Nor hill , ' nor hedge , ' nor wall , could e ' er impede , But o ' er I brought thee on my faithful back . When late at Marts and Taverns thou hast staid
, Thy sense unequal to direct the road , O ' er the dark heath—thro' rutted lanes I ' ve ncigh'd And bore in safety home my drowsy load . Oft my dear Mistress have I drawn with care , With her sweet brood to join the village school , And thought myself full proud when she would spare One look , one pat , or call me her— " poor Fool <"
With such a charge for worlds I had not fell , Nor giv ' n alarm to those so dear to thee—Then let compassion in thy bosom dwell , Nor furious thus increase my misery 1 ¦ Oh ! if Intemp ' rance in her wildest hours , Has urg'd tiiee lo propose the cruel bet , My once kind Master ! strain no more my pow ' rs
, They fail beneath the arduous task that ' s set . If-true the doctrine which some sages hold , Of transmigration ' s just and vengeful fate , Oh ! think what horror will thy page unfold , : How wilt thou suffer in thine alter'd state !
This day ' s base action then shall rise in awe , Aud doom thee to some pannier'd Ass ' s lot , Thy sides half famish' d , and thy back half raw , ' Standing neglected near thy Master ' s cot . Or , some grim Tyrant , bent on pelf and blood , ' May bring on thee a premature old age ; An out-cast cripple , sell thee from his stud , To meet the Collier ' s , or the Sandman ' s rage .
Ah '! dost thou pause—thy heel forget its strolie' 'Tis now too late to own the deed accurst ; Mercy too late has in thy heart awoke—My eyes grow dim , my mighty heart is burst 1 Farewell!—affected by my mournful tale , Some breasts may feel the keenness of remorse ; And should my fate but turn compassion ' s scale ,
A fiiiure Race may bless the dying Horse . Jan . i 6 , 1795 . W . MEYLER
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Horse To His Rider; An Elegy,
Bred in thy fields , I knew thy presence well , And ever ran thy smoothing hand to greet ; Then frisk'd along the daisy-sprinkled dell ' To shew thee early that my pow ' rs were fleet . To please thy fancy I with patience bent _ V ; iy velvet ear lo meet the Iron's heat ,
And all the torturing whims which Men invent . To tame and shape us to their ends compleati Fed in thy pasture , I with grateful speed Have been the foremost with the tuneful pack , Nor hill , ' nor hedge , ' nor wall , could e ' er impede , But o ' er I brought thee on my faithful back . When late at Marts and Taverns thou hast staid
, Thy sense unequal to direct the road , O ' er the dark heath—thro' rutted lanes I ' ve ncigh'd And bore in safety home my drowsy load . Oft my dear Mistress have I drawn with care , With her sweet brood to join the village school , And thought myself full proud when she would spare One look , one pat , or call me her— " poor Fool <"
With such a charge for worlds I had not fell , Nor giv ' n alarm to those so dear to thee—Then let compassion in thy bosom dwell , Nor furious thus increase my misery 1 ¦ Oh ! if Intemp ' rance in her wildest hours , Has urg'd tiiee lo propose the cruel bet , My once kind Master ! strain no more my pow ' rs
, They fail beneath the arduous task that ' s set . If-true the doctrine which some sages hold , Of transmigration ' s just and vengeful fate , Oh ! think what horror will thy page unfold , : How wilt thou suffer in thine alter'd state !
This day ' s base action then shall rise in awe , Aud doom thee to some pannier'd Ass ' s lot , Thy sides half famish' d , and thy back half raw , ' Standing neglected near thy Master ' s cot . Or , some grim Tyrant , bent on pelf and blood , ' May bring on thee a premature old age ; An out-cast cripple , sell thee from his stud , To meet the Collier ' s , or the Sandman ' s rage .
Ah '! dost thou pause—thy heel forget its strolie' 'Tis now too late to own the deed accurst ; Mercy too late has in thy heart awoke—My eyes grow dim , my mighty heart is burst 1 Farewell!—affected by my mournful tale , Some breasts may feel the keenness of remorse ; And should my fate but turn compassion ' s scale ,
A fiiiure Race may bless the dying Horse . Jan . i 6 , 1795 . W . MEYLER