Epitaph on a Hare

Epitaph on a Hare

By William Cowper

(Written March, 1783. Published in The Gentleman’s Magazine,
Dec., 1784; afterwards in 1800. A copy is in the British Museum.)

Here lies, who, hound did ne’er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne’er tainted the morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman’s halloo;

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild-Jack-hare.

Thought duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look
And, when he could, would bite.

His diet was of wheaten bread,
and milk, and oats, and straw;
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
with sand to scour his maw.

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
On pippin’s russet peel,
And when his juicy salads failed,
Sliced carrots pleased him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear,
But most before approaching showers
Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round-rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,
And every night at play.

I kept him for his humour’s sake,
For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.

But now beneath his walnut shade
He finds his long last home,
And waits, in snug concealment laid,
Till gentler Puss shall come.

He, still more aged feels the shocks,
From which no care can save,
And partner once of Tiney’s box,
Must soon partake his grave.

_______________________

From the website of the Cowper and Newton Museum:

On his return to Orchard Side [Cowper] was glad “of anything that would engage my attention without fatiguing it”. Some neighbour’s children had a leveret of which they grew tired. Cowper was offered this and two others. In a letter dated 28th May 1784 Cowper describes the arrangements he made for his pets.

Immediately commencing carpentry, I built them houses to sleep in; each had a separate apartment so contrived that their ordure would pass through the bottom of it; an earthenware pan placed under each received whatsoever fell, which duly emptied and washed thus kept sweet and clean. In the daytime they had the range of the hall, and at night retired to his own bed, never intruding into that of another . . .

A memorandum found among Cowper’s papers dated 9th March 1786 records the last of his three hares.

This day died poor Puss, aged eleven years and eleven months. She died between twelve and one, at noon, of old age, and apparently without pain.


Image: “Brown Hare” by Susan Shimeld.