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Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art,
And blasted by thy murder-aiming eye; May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, Nor never pleasure glad thy cruel heart! Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, The bitter little of life that remains! No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, No more of rest, but now of dying bed! The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom Crest. Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. Unsatisfied? Search for more:Other Cool Sites:Hot Arts & Stage NewsLyrics Catalogue Sound Tracks Guide Guide to Serials and Shows English Subtitles For DivX Movies Hundreds of Cooking Recipes Over 5000 Cocktails Recipes Cool Online Encyclopedia Cellulars Descriptions and Reviews Algorithms Dictionary Funny Jokes and Anecdotes. Usenet Newsgroups Reader |