Song for "The Jacquerie".

The hound was cuffed, the hound was kicked,
O' the ears was cropped, o' the tail was nicked,
(All.)    Oo-hoo-o, howled the hound.
The hound into his kennel crept;
He rarely wept, he never slept.
His mouth he always open kept
Licking his bitter wound,
The hound,
(All.)        U-lu-lo, HOWLED THE HOUND.

A star upon his kennel shone
That showed the hound a meat-bare bone.
(All.)    O hungry was the hound!
The hound had but a churlish wit.
He seized the bone, he crunched, he bit.
"An thou wert Master, I had slit
Thy throat with a huge wound,"
Quo' hound.
(All.)        O, angry was the hound.

The star in castle-window shone,
The Master lay abed, alone.
(All.)    Oh ho, why not? quo' hound.
He leapt, he seized the throat, he tore
The Master, head from neck, to floor,
And rolled the head i' the kennel door,
And fled and salved his wound,
Good hound!
(All.)        U-lu-lo, HOWLED THE HOUND.


Macon, Georgia, 1868.

Sidney Lanier

Sidney Lanier, born February 3, 1842, in Macon, Georgia, was an American musician, poet, and author. He was known for his musical and poetic works that embodied the natural beauty and culture of the American South. Lanier fought in the American Civil War, an experience that deeply influenced his later works. He is celebrated for his technical mastery and innovative use of meter and musicality in poetry. Lanier passed away on September 7, 1881, in Lynn, North Carolina.

Sidney Lanier

To Dr. Thomas Shearer.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

Our Hills.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

A Song of Eternity in Time.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

Jones's Private Argyment.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

English

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The Hounds

Far off a lonely hound
Telling his loneliness all round
To the dark woods, dark hills, and darker sea;

And, answering, the sound
Of that yet lonelier sea-hound
Telling his loneliness to the solitary stars.

Hearing, the kennelled hound
Some neighbourhood and comfort found,
And slept beneath the comfortless high stars.

But that wild sea-hound
Unkennelled, called all night all round--
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Dawgs Of War

Comes the British bulldog first, solid as a log,
Hes so ugly in repose that hes a handsome dog;
Full of mild benevolence as his years increase;
Silent as a china dog on the mantelpiece.
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
To the thick of Britains foes,
Enemies behind him close,

(Silence for a while.)

Comes a very different dog, tell him at a glance.
Clipped and trimmed and frilled all round. Dandy dog of France.
(Always was a dandy dog, no matter what his age)
Now his every hair and frill is stiff as wire with rage.
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
While behind him Frances foes
Reel and surge and pack and close.

(Silence for a while.)

Next com...

Henry Lawson

To Our Mocking-Bird.

Died of a cat, May, 1878.



I.

Trillets of humor, - shrewdest whistle-wit, -
Contralto cadences of grave desire
Such as from off the passionate Indian pyre
Drift down through sandal-odored flames that split
About the slim young widow who doth sit
And sing above, - midnights of tone entire, -
Tissues of moonlight shot with songs of fire; -
Bright drops of tune, from oceans infinite
Of melody, sipped off the thin-edged wave
And trickling down the beak, - discourses brave
Of serious matter that no man may guess, -
Good-fellow greetings, cries of light distress -
All these but now within the house we heard:
O Death, wast thou too deaf to hear the bird?


II.

Ah me, though never an ear for song, thou hast
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Sidney Lanier

Hound And Huntsman.

        Seeing yourselves are wise, ye smile
        On fools and folly for a while;
        But water wears the rocks, and sense
        Is wearied by impertinence.

        The wind was southerly, the sky
        Proclaimed that a good scent would lie -
        Forth from the kennel burst the hounds,
        As schoolboys sally out of bounds.
        They hailed the huntsman; he by name
        Greeted each dog, who thought it fame.
        See them obey command: when bade,
        They scattered thro' the copse and glade;
        They snuffed the scent upon the gale,
        And sought the remnant of a trail.

        Ringwood, a pup, on the alert,
        Was very young and very pert;
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The Huntsman And His Hound.

When hill and dale, long years ago,
Lay clad in nature's dress,
And flourish'd the primeval pomp
Of nature's wilderness,

A huntsman and his hound would roam,
Where fed the timid deer,
And where the partridge's drum, or whirr,
Brought music to his ear.

In sooth, he heard all forest sounds
With real sportsman's joy;
And here he always pleasure found,
With little of alloy.

The pigeon's coo, the squirrel's chirp,
The wild-bird's thrilling lay,
Brought freshen'd pleasure to his heart,
At ev'ry op'ning day.

But music sweeter far than aught
In wood or vale around,
Was the loud crackling of the deer,
Or baying of his hound.

Full many a deer his steady aim,
With faithful rifle slew,
But, faithful as his rifle ...

Thomas Frederick Young

Hound Voice

Because we love bare hills and stunted trees
And were the last to choose the settled ground,
Its boredom of the desk or of the spade, because
So many years companioned by a hound,
Our voices carry; and though slumber-bound,
Some few half wake and half renew their choice,
Give tongue, proclaim their hidden name -- "Hound Voice."

The women that I picked spoke sweet and low
And yet gave tongue. "Hound Voices' were they all.
We picked each other from afar and knew
What hour of terror comes to test the soul,
And in that terror's name obeyed the call,
And understood, what none have understood,
Those images that waken in the blood.
Some day we shall get up before the dawn
And find our ancient hounds before the door,
And wide awake know that the hunt is on;

William Butler Yeats