The Wounded Hare
Inhuman man! curse on thy barb’rous art,And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye;May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart!
Go live, poor wand’rer of the wood and field!The bitter little that of life remains:No more the thickening brakes and verdant plainsTo thee a home, or food, or pastime yield.
Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest,No more of rest, but now thy dying bed!The sheltering rushes whistling o’er thy head,The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest.
Perhaps a mother’s anguish adds its woe;The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side;Ah! helpless nurslings, who will now provideThat life a mother only can bestow!
Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, waitThe 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.
Words in this poem
- blasted a.
- Blighted; withered.
- soothe v. t.
- To assent to as true. Testament of Love. [Originally, to assent to as true; OE. so to verify, AS. ges to prove the truth of, to bear witness. See Sooth, a.]
- pastime n.
- That which amuses, and serves to make time pass agreeably; sport; amusement; diversion. [Pass + time: cf. F. passetemps.]
- wonted a.
- Accustomed; customary; usual.
- prest a.
- Ready; prompt; prepared. [OF. prest, F. prêt, fr. L. praestus ready. Cf. Presto.]
- fondly adv.
- Foolishly. Verstegan (1673).
- hapless a.
- Without hap or luck; luckless; unfortunate; unlucky; unhappy; as, hapless youth; hapless maid.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Wounded Hare is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems and Songs of Robert Burns, Project Gutenberg ebook #1279; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Robert Burns, The Wounded Hare, in Poems and Songs (1786–1796), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1279, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/burns-poems/the-wounded-hare.html, id L03168.
Form and metre
The Wounded Hare is 20 lines in 5 stanzas of 4 lines each. Every stanza rhymes ABBA. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 93%). 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.9 syllables. 15% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABBA artA · eyeB · sighB · heartA
- 2 ABBA fieldA · remainsB · plainsB · yieldA
- 3 ABBA restA · bedB · headB · prestA
- 4 ABBA woeA · sideB · provideB · bestowA
- 5 ABBA waitA · dawnB · lawnB · fateA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Inhuman man! curse on thy barb’rous art, | 10 | ˘/˘······· |
| And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye; | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, | 9 | ·//˘····· |
| Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart! | 8 | ·//˘··/· |
| Go live, poor wand’rer of the wood and field! | 10 | ·········· |
| The bitter little that of life remains: | 10 | ·/˘/˘···˘/ |
| No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| To thee a home, or food, or pastime yield. | 10 | ·······/·· |
| Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| No more of rest, but now thy dying bed! | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| The sheltering rushes whistling o’er thy head, | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Perhaps a mother’s anguish adds its woe; | 10 | ˘/·/˘/˘··· |
| The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side; | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Ah! helpless nurslings, who will now provide | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| That life a mother only can bestow! | 10 | ···/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| I’ll miss thee sporting o’er the dewy lawn, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And curse the ruffian’s aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. | 12 | ·········/˘· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.