Wildcat
Amid the wildernesses vast
That gird the Mississippi's shores,
'Mid woods whose shadows dense are cast
Where the Red River sluggish pours,
The wildcat makes his lonely camp,
His dark, impregnable abode,
Hid in the dusk, unwholesome swamp
Where human foot hath seldom trod.
In dense retreat, in hollow tree,
Or natural cave it rears its brood,
And hunts the forest's recesses
To feed their gaping mouths with food.
In silence of the darkling night,
Or when the new day has its birth,
It goes abroad with step as light
As fall of thistle-down to earth,
No bird may build its airy nest
Beyond the wildcat's plundering quest,
For swift and easy as a bird
It mounts, and scarce a leaf is stirr'd.
It runs, it flies, it springs, it leaps,
As graceful as the antelope,
Yet cruel as the tiger grim
In Indian swamp or mountain slope.
The hare, the 'possum, and the coon,
It waylays in the forest-glade;
'Gainst poultry-yard and sheepfold pen
Its ravaging inroads are made;
So with all arts the human race
Assails it in the pitiless chase.
At day-dawn forth the hunters go
With rifle and with yelping hound;
They run the red fox to his den,
They track the 'cat' in forest grand;
They drive him to some dense retreat
Where high o'erhead the branches meet;
Close to some rough and gnarled limb
The frenzied creature hides and clings.
With foamy jaws and hair erect,
Fierce glances from his eyes he flings,
But deadly aim and rifle-ball
Soon humble him in headlong fall.
But if tenacious life remains,
He meets the baffled, fierce attack,
Then swift thro' wood and briery bush
He flies, the dog pack yelling at his back;
He scales some tree-top, or doth plunge
In some deep fissure of the ground,
And then the death-fight is renew'd
'Twixt the marauder and the hound,
And many a ghastly wound doth show
Before the quarry is laid low.
In winter, when the snows lie deep
In shapeless hillock, drifted heap;
When thick the hollow vales they fill,
And woods are trackless on the hill,
The wild wolves, famish'd, grim and gaunt,
Forsake their rocky mountain-haunt,
When frozen Nature's hand denies
The food in summer it supplies.
Forc'd from their coverts, far they prowl
With gnashing teeth and dismal howl,
And, hid all day in darksome den,
At night roam round the haunts of men.
By cattle-fold or shelter'd shed
Where bleating sheep are hous'd and fed,
When all the farmer's household sleeps,
And watch-dog to the fireside creeps,
These fierce marauders gather round;
They scent the air, they sniff the ground,
Then with a famish'd onset break
Thro' wattled hedge and sheepfold stake,
Rending with their demoniac crew
The fleecy dam, the bleating ewe.
The farmer at the break of day
Looks on the ravage with dismay-
The precious flock, complete no more;
The snowy sheep-yard, red with gore!
From farm to farmhouse spreads the tale,
From upland hut to peopled vale;
All arm, the 'wolf drive' to prepare,
A hunt that all for leagues must share.
Some from the dusty rafters take
Their rusty guns of ancient make;
And some, late soldiers of the war,
The rifles that have slain so far;
The small boys birding-pieces wield,
Impatient for the hunting-field.
Forth then exultingly they pour
For circuit of ten leagues or more;
Their captains on their coursers borne,
Arm'd with the trumpet and the horn;
All wading o'er the snow-heap'd ground,
All to some common centre bound,
Marching with blast of horns and shout,
To drive the hunted wolves in rout.
Unharm'd the red deer boundeth by;
Scathless the wild-cats from the bough
Gaze on the rushing crowd below;
The coon from hollow of the tree
Looks down, amaz'd the coil to see.
'Tis known in tangled-hazel swamp
The wolves have made their winter camp;
And here, vociferous and loud,
Concentrates th' avenging crowd,
Engirdling as with iron ring
The wolves that to their covert cling.
At summons of the leader press
Thro' briery, vine-strung wilderness,
A chosen band, with horn and cry
To fright the victims till they fly;
Who, mad with terror, seek to gain
Some outlet of escape in vain;
For everywhere a foeman stands
To slaughter them with bloody hands;
And soon is soak'd the spotless snow
With crimson blood from wounds that flow.
