Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art, <br /> And blasted by thy murder-aiming eye; <br /> May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, <br />Nor never pleasure glad thy cruel heart! <br /> <br />Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, <br /> The bitter little of life that remains! <br /> No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains <br />To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. <br /> <br />Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, <br /> No more of rest, but now of dying bed! <br /> The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, <br />The cold earth with thy bloody bosom Crest. <br /> <br />Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait <br /> The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, <br /> I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, <br />And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate.<br /><br />Robert Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wounded-hare-2/
