Beyond the palings of the park,

A hare had made her form 

Beneath a drooping fern, that gave

A shelter, snug and warm.

She slept until the daylight came,

And all things were awake; 

And then the hare, with noiseless step,

Crept softly from the brake.

She stroked her whiskers with her paws,

Looked timidly around 

With open eyes, and ears erect

That caught the smallest sound.

The field-mouse rustled In the grass,

The squirrel in the trees; 

But the little hare was not afraid

Of common sounds like these.

She frisked and gamboled with delight,

And cropped a leaf or two 

Of clover and of tender grass,

That glistened in the dew.

What was it, then, that made her start,

And run away so fast? 

She heard the distant sound of hounds,

She heard the huntsman's blast.

Hoy! Tally-ho! Hoy! Tally-ho!

The hounds are in full cry; 

Ehew! Ehew! In scarlet coats

The men are sweeping by.

So off she set with a spring and a bound, 

Over the meadows and open ground, 

Faster than hunter and faster than hound; 

And on, and on, till she lost the sound, 

And away went the little hare.