Poems (David)/September 1st, 1868
SEPTEMBER 1st, 1868.
SEPTEMBER'S the month when death so fell,
O'er timid coveys casts a deadly spell!
When the smiling day has scarce begun,
The sportsman speeds on with his fatal gun,
With eager nose and waving tail,
Dear old Sancho does scent the gale.
He stops and points, then draws again!
Perchance he sees the frighted twain
Surrounded by their infant train.
And crouching 'neath some turnip shade,
Or dusting in some furrowed glade.
Now wild with dire alarm they spring,
And swiftly fly with trembling wing;
Too late, alas! one hapless parent flies,
A shot! a flutter! she falls and dies.
O'er timid coveys casts a deadly spell!
When the smiling day has scarce begun,
The sportsman speeds on with his fatal gun,
With eager nose and waving tail,
Dear old Sancho does scent the gale.
He stops and points, then draws again!
Perchance he sees the frighted twain
Surrounded by their infant train.
And crouching 'neath some turnip shade,
Or dusting in some furrowed glade.
Now wild with dire alarm they spring,
And swiftly fly with trembling wing;
Too late, alas! one hapless parent flies,
A shot! a flutter! she falls and dies.