Their matins chant, nor brook my long delay.
My courser hears their voice; see there, with ears
And tail erect, neighing, he paws the ground;
Fierce rapture kindles in his reddening eyes,
And boils in every vein. As captive boys,
Cow’d by the ruling rod, and haughty frowns
Of pedagogues severe, from their hard tasks
If once dismiss’d, no limits can contain
The tumult raised within their little breasts,
But give a loose to all their frolick play:
So from their kennel rush the joyous pack;
A thousand wanton gaieties express
Their inward ecstasy, their pleasing sport
Once more indulged, and liberty restored.
The rising sun, that o’er the horizon peeps,
As many colours from their glossy skins
Beaming reflects, as paint the various bow,
When April showers descend. Delightful scene!
Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs;
And in each smiling countenance appears
Fresh blooming health, and universal joy.
Huntsman, lead on! Behind, the clustering pack
Submiss attend, hear with respect thy whip
Loud-clanging, and thy harsher voice obey:
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 114-138.]
Spare not the straggling cur, that wildly roves,
But let thy brisk assistant, on his back,
Imprint thy just resentments; let each lash
Bite to the quick, till, howling, he return,
And, whining, creep amid the trembling crowd.
Here, on this verdant spot, where nature kind,
With double blessings crowns the farmer’s hopes;
Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead
Affords the wandering hares a rich repast,
Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they spread
And range around, and dash the glittering dew.
If some stanch hound, with his authentick voice,
Avow the recent trail, the justling tribe
Attend his call; then with one mutual cry
The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills
Repeat the pleasing tale. See, how they thread
The brakes, and up yon furrow drive along:
But quick they back recoil, and wisely check
Their eager haste; then, o’er the fallow’d ground
How leisurely they work, and many a pause
The harmonious concert breaks; till more assured,
With joys redoubled the low vallies ring.
What artful labyrinths perplex their way!
Ah, there she lies! how close! she pants, she doubts
If now she lives; she trembles as she sits,
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 139-163.]
With horror seized! The wither’d grass, that clings
Around her head, of the same russet hue,
Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes,
With life full beaming, her vain wiles betray’d.
At distance draw thy pack, let all be hush’d,
No clamour loud, no frantick joy be heard,
Lest the wild hound run gadding o’er the plain,
Untractable, nor hear thy chiding voice.
Now gently put her off; see how direct
To her known meuse she flies! Here, huntsman, bring,
But without hurry, all thy jolly hounds,
And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop,
And seem to plough the ground! then, all at once,
With greedy nostrils, snuff the fuming steam,
That glads their fluttering hearts. As winds, let loose
From the dark caverns of the blustering god,
They burst away, and sweep the dewy lawn.
Hope gives them wings, while she’s spurr’d on by fear.
The welkin rings; men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods,
In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths,
Stripp’d for the chase, give all your souls to joy!
See how their coursers, than the mountain roe
More fleet, the verdant carpet skim; thick clouds
Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print
The grass unbruised; with emulation fired,
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 164-188.]
They strain to lead the field, top the barr’d gate,
O’er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush
The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend
O’er their arch’d necks; with steady hands, by turns
Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage.
Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs,
Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone,
And with the panting winds lag far behind.
Huntsman! her gait observe; if in wide rings
She wheel her mazy way, in the same round
Persisting still, she’ll foil the beaten track.
But, if she fly, and with the favouring wind
Urge her bold course, less intricate thy task;
Push on thy pack. Like some poor exiled wretch,
The frighted chase leaves her late dear abodes,
O’er plains remote she stretches far away,
Ah, never to return! for greedy death
Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey.
Hark! from yon covert, where those towering oaks
Above the humble copse aspiring rise,
What glorious triumphs burst, in every gale,
Upon our ravish’d ears! the hunters shout,
The clanging horns swell their sweet-winding notes;
The pack, wide-opening, load the trembling air
With various melody; from tree to tree
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 189-213.]
The propagated cry redoubling bounds,
And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy
Through all the regions near. Afflictive birch
No more the schoolboy dreads, his prison broke,
Scampering he flies, nor heeds his master’s call;
The weary traveller forgets his road,
And climbs the adjacent hill; the ploughman leaves
The unfinish’d furrow; nor his bleating flocks
Are now the shepherd’s joy; men, boys, and girls,
Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds
Spread o’er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seized.
Look, how she pants! and o’er yon opening glade
Slips, glancing, by; while, at the further end,
The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile,
Maze within maze. The covert’s utmost bound
Slily she skirts; behind them, cautious, creeps,
And, in that very track, so lately stain’d
By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue
The foe she flies. Let cavillers deny
That brutes have reason; sure, ’tis something more,
’Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires,
Beyond the short extent of human thought.
But hold--I see her from the covert break;
Sad, on yon little eminence, she sits;
Intent she listens, with one ear erect,
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 214-238.]
Pondering, and doubtful, what new course to take,
And how to escape the fierce blood-thirsty crew,
That still urge on, and still, in vollies loud,
Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress.
As now, in louder peals, the loaded winds
Bring on the gathering storm, her fears prevail;
And o’er the plain, and o’er the mountain’s ridge,
Away she flies; nor ships, with wind and tide,
And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast.
Once more, ye jovial train, your courage try,
And each clean courser’s speed. We scour along,
In pleasing hurry and confusion toss’d;
Oblivion to be wish’d. The patient pack
Hang on the scent, unwearied; up they climb,
And ardent we pursue; our labouring steeds
We press, we gore; till once the summit gain’d,
Painfully panting, there we breathe awhile;
Then, like a foaming torrent, pouring down
Precipitant, we smoke along the vale.
Happy the man, who, with unrivall’d speed,
Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view
The struggling pack; how, in the rapid course,
Alternate they preside, and, justling, push
To guide the dubious scent; how giddy youth
Oft, babbling, errs, by wiser age reproved;
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 239-262.]
How, niggard of his strength, the wise old hound
Hangs in the rear, till some important point
Rouse all his diligence, or till the chase
Sinking he finds; then to the head he springs,
With thirst of glory fired, and wins the prize.
Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career:
Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance gaze,
Have haply foil’d the turf. See! that old hound,
How busily he works, but dares not trust
His doubtful sense; draw yet a wider ring.
Hark! now again the chorus fills: as bells
Sallied awhile, at once their peal renew,
And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls.
See, how they toss, with animated rage,
Recovering all they lost!---- That eager haste
Some doubling wile foreshows.--Ah, yet once more
They’re check’d!--hold back with speed--on either hand
They flourish round---- even yet persist--’tis right:
Away they spring; the rustling stubbles bend
Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase
Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced:
From brake to brake she flies, and visits all
Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure,
With love and plenty bless’d. See! there she goes;
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 263-287.]
She reels along, and, by her gait, betrays
Her inward weakness. See, how black she looks!
The sweat, that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves
A languid scent. And now, in open view,
See, see! she flies; each eager hound exerts
His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve.
How quick she turns, their gaping jaws eludes,
And yet a moment lives; till round enclosed
By all the greedy pack, with infant screams
She yields her breath, and there reluctant dies!
So, when the furious Bacchanals assail’d
Threïcian Orpheus, poor ill-fated bard!
Loud was the cry; hills, woods, and Hebrus’ banks,
Return’d their clamorous rage: distress’d he flies,
Shifting from place to place, but flies in vain;
For eager they pursue, till panting, faint,
By noisy multitudes o’erpower’d, he sinks,
To the relentless crowd a bleeding prey.
The huntsman now, a deep incision made,
Shakes out, with hands impure, and dashes down,
Her reeking entrails, and yet quivering heart.
These claim the pack; the bloody perquisite
For all their toils. Stretch’d on the ground she lies,
A mangled corse; in her dim glaring eyes
Cold death exults, and stiffens every limb.
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 288-312.]
Awed, by the threatening whip, the furious hounds
Around her bay; or, at their master’s foot,
Each happy favourite courts his kind applause,
With humble adulation cowering low.
All now is joy. With cheeks full-blown they wind
Her solemn dirge, while the loud-opening pack
The concert swell, and hills and dales return
The sadly-pleasing sounds. Thus the poor hare,
A puny, dastard animal! but versed
In subtle wiles, diverts the youthful train.
But if thy proud aspiring soul disdains
So mean a prey, delighted with the pomp,
Magnificence, and grandeur of the chase,
Hear what the Muse from faithful records sings.
Why, on the banks of Jumnah, Indian stream,
Line within line, rise the pavilions proud,
Their silken streamers waving in the wind?
Why neighs the warrior horse? from tent to tent,
Why press in crowds the buzzing multitude?
Why shines the polish’d helm, and pointed lance,
This way and that, far-beaming o’er the plain?
Nor Visapour, nor Golconda rebel;
Nor the great Sophy, with his numerous host,
Lays waste the provinces; nor glory fires
To rob and to destroy, beneath the name
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 313-337.]
And specious guise of war. A nobler cause
Calls Aurengzebe to arms. No cities sacked,
No mothers tears, no helpless orphans cries,
No violated leagues, with sharp remorse,
Shall sting the conscious victor: but mankind
Shall hail him good and just: for ’tis on beasts
He draws his vengeful sword; on beasts of prey,
Full fed with human gore. See, see, he comes!
Imperial Delhi, opening wide her gates,
Pours out her thronging legions, bright in arms,
And all the pomp of war. Before them sound
Clarions and trumpets, breathing martial airs,
And bold defiance. High, upon his throne,
Borne on the back of his proud elephant,
Sits the great chief of Timur’s glorious race:
Sublime he sits, amid the radiant blaze
Of gems and gold. Omrahs about him crowd,
And rein the Arabian steed, and watch his nod:
And potent Rajahs, who themselves preside
O’er realms of wide extent; but here, submiss,
Their homage pay; alternate kings and slaves.
Next these, with prying eunuchs girt around,
The fair sultanas of his court; a troop
Of chosen beauties, but, with care, conceal’d
From each intrusive eye; one look is death.
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 338-362.]
Ah! cruel Eastern law! had kings a power
But equal to their wild tyrannick will,
To rob us of the sun’s all-cheering ray,
Were less severe. The vulgar close the march,
Slaves and artificers; and Delhi mourns
Her empty and depopulated streets.
Now, at the camp arrived, with stern review,
Through groves of spears, from file to file, he darts
His sharp experienced eye; their order marks,
Each in his station rang’d, exact and firm,
Till in the boundless line his sight is lost.
Not greater multitudes in arms appear’d,
On these extended plains, when Ammon’s son
With mighty Porus in dread battle join’d,
The vassal world the prize. Nor was that host
More numerous of old, which the great king
Pour’d out on Greece, from all the unpeopled East;
That bridged the Hellespont from shore to shore,
And drank the rivers dry. Mean while, in troops,
The busy hunter-train mark out the ground,
A wide circumference; full many a league
In compass round; woods, rivers, hills, and plains,
Large provinces; enough to gratify
Ambition’s highest aim, could reason bound
Man’s erring will. Now sit, in close divan,
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 363-387.]
The mighty chiefs of this prodigious host.
He, from the throne, high-eminent presides;
Gives out his mandates proud, laws of the chase,
From ancient records drawn. With reverence low,
And prostrate at his feet, the chiefs receive
His irreversible decrees, from which
To vary, is to die. Then, his brave bands
Each to his station leads, encamping round,
Till the wide circle is completely form’d.
Where decent order reigns: what these command,
Those execute with speed, and punctual care,
In all the strictest discipline of war;
As if some watchful foe, with bold insult,
Hung lowering o’er the camp. The high resolve,
That flies on wings, through all the encircling line,
Each motion steers, and animates the whole.
So, by the sun’s attractive power controll’d,
The planets in their spheres roll round his orb;
On all he shines, and rules the great machine.
Ere yet the morn dispels the fleeting mists,
The signal given, by the loud trumpet’s voice,
Now high in air the imperial standard waves,
Emblazon’d rich with gold, and glittering gems;
And, like a sheet of fire, through the dun gloom
Streaming meteorous. The soldiers’ shouts,
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 388-412.]
And all the brazen instruments of war,
With mutual clamour, and united din,
Fill the large concave: while, from camp to camp,
They catch the varied sounds, floating in air.
Round all the wide circumference, tigers fell
Shrink at the noise; deep in his gloomy den,
The lion starts, and morsels, yet unchew’d,
Drop from his trembling jaws. Now, all at once,
Onward they march, embattled, to the sound
Of martial harmony; fifes, cornets, drums,
That rouse the sleepy soul to arms, and bold
Heroick deeds. In parties, here and there
Detach’d, o’er hill and dale, the hunters range,
Inquisitive; strong dogs, that match in fight
The boldest brute, around their masters wait,
A faithful guard. No haunt unsearch’d, they drive
From every covert, and from every den,
The lurking savages. Incessant shouts
Re-echo through the woods, and kindling fires
Gleam from the mountain tops; the forest seems
One mingling blaze: like flocks of sheep, they fly
Before the flaming brand: fierce lions, pards,
Boars, tigers, bears, and wolves; a dreadful crew
Of grim blood-thirsty foes! growling along,
They stalk, indignant; but fierce vengeance still
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 413-437.]
Hangs pealing on their rear, and pointed spears
Present immediate death. Soon as the night,
Wrapp’d in her sable veil, forbids the chase,
They pitch their tents, in even ranks, around
The circling camp: the guards are placed; and fires,
At proper distances ascending, rise,
And paint the horizon with their ruddy light.
So, round some island’s shore of large extent,
Amid the gloomy horrors of the night,
The billows, breaking on the pointed rocks,
Seem all one flame, and the bright circuit wide
Appears a bulwark of surrounding fire.
What dreadful howlings, and what hideous roar,
Disturb those peaceful shades! where erst the bird,
That glads the night, had cheer’d the listening groves
With sweet complainings. Through the silent gloom
Oft they the guards assail; as oft repell’d
They fly reluctant, with hot boiling rage
Stung to the quick, and mad with wild despair.
Thus, day by day, they still the chase renew;
At night encamp; till now, in straighter bounds,
The circle lessens, and the beasts perceive
The wall that hems them in on every side.
And now their fury bursts, and knows no mean;
From man they turn, and point their ill judged rage
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 438-462.]
Against their fellow brutes. With teeth and claws
The civil war begins; grappling they tear;
Lions on tigers prey, and bears on wolves:
Horrible discord! till the crowd behind
Shouting pursue, and part the bloody fray.
At once their wrath subsides; tame as the lamb,
The lion hangs his head; the furious pard,
Cow’d and subdued, flies from the face of man,
Nor bears one glance of his commanding eye:
So abject is a tyrant in distress.
At last, within the narrow plain confined,
A listed field, mark’d out for bloody deeds,
An amphitheatre, more glorious far
Than ancient Rome could boast, they crowd in heaps,
Dismay’d, and quite appall’d. In meet array,
Sheath’d in refulgent arms, a noble band
Advance; great lords of high imperial blood,
Early resolved to assert the royal race,
And prove, by glorious deeds, their valour’s growth
Mature, ere yet the callow down has spread
Its curling shade. On bold Arabian steeds,
With decent pride they sit, that fearless hear
The lion’s dreadful roar; and, down the rock,
Swift shooting, plunge; or o’er the mountain’s ridge
Stretching along, the greedy tiger leave,
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 463-487.]
Panting behind. On foot their faithful slaves,
With javelins arm’d, attend; each watchful eye
Fix’d on his youthful care, for him alone
He fears; and, to redeem his life, unmoved,
Would lose his own. The mighty Aurengzebe,
From his high-elevated throne, beholds
His blooming race; revolving in his mind,
What once he was, in his gay spring of life,
When vigour strung his nerves: parental joy
Melts in his eyes, and flushes in his cheeks.
Now the loud trumpet sounds a charge: the shouts
Of eager hosts, through the circling line,
And the wild howlings of the beasts within,
Rend wide the welkin! flights of arrows, wing’d
With death, and javelins, launch’d from every arm,
Gall sore the brutal bands, with many a wound
Gored through and through. Despair at last prevails,
When fainting nature shrinks, and rouses all
Their drooping courage: swell’d with furious rage,
Their eyes dart fire; and on the youthful band
They rush implacable. They their broad shields
Quick interpose; on each devoted head
Their flaming falchions, as the bolts of Jove,
Descend unerring. Prostrate on the ground
The grinning monsters lie, and their foul gore
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 488-511.]
Defiles the verdant plain. Nor idle stand
The trusty slaves; with pointed spears, they pierce
Through their tough hides; or at their gaping mouths
An easier passage find. The king of brutes,
In broken roarings, breathes his last; the bear
Grumbles in death; nor can his spotted skin,
Though sleek it shine, with varied beauties gay,
Save the proud pard from unrelenting fate.
The battle bleeds; grim slaughter strides along,
Glutting her greedy jaws, grins o’er her prey.
Men, horses, dogs, fierce beasts of every kind,
A strange promiscuous carnage, drench’d in blood,
And heaps on heaps amass’d. What yet remain
Alive, with vain assault, contend to break
The impenetrable line: others, whom fear
Inspires with self-preserving wiles, beneath
The bodies of the slain for shelter creep;
Aghast they fly, or hide their heads, dispersed.
And now, perchance, had Heaven but pleased, the work
Of death had been complete; and Aurengzebe,
By one dread frown, extinguish’d half their race;
When lo! the bright sultanas of his court
Appear, and to his ravish’d eyes display
Those charms, but rarely to the day reveal’d.
[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 512-523.]
Lowly they bend, and humbly sue, to save
The vanquish’d host. What mortal can deny,
When suppliant beauty begs? At his command,
Opening to right and left, the well-train’d troops
Leave a large void for their retreating foes.
Away they fly, on wings of fear upborne,
To seek, on distant hills, their late abodes.
Ye proud oppressors, whose vain hearts exult
In wantonness of power, ’gainst the brute race,
Fierce robbers, like yourselves, a guiltless war
Wage uncontroll’d; here quench your thirst of blood:
But learn, from Aurengzebe, to spare mankind.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Book III]
Argument.
_Of King Edgar, and his imposing a tribute of wolves’ heads upon
the kings of Wales: from hence a transition to fox-hunting, which
is described in all its parts. Censure of an over-numerous pack. Of
the several engines to destroy foxes, and other wild beasts. The
steel-trap described, and the manner of using it. Description of
the pitfall for the lion; and another for the elephant. The ancient
way of hunting the tiger with a mirror. The Arabian manner of
hunting the wild boar. Description of the royal stag-chase at
Windsor Forest. Concludes with an address to his Majesty, and an
eulogy upon mercy._
[Illustration]
In Albion’s isle, when glorious Edgar reign’d,
He, wisely provident, from her white cliffs
Launch’d half her forests, and, with numerous fleets,
Cover’d his wide domain: there proudly rode,
Lord of the deep, the great prerogative
Of British monarchs. Each invader bold,
Dane and Norwegian, at a distance gazed,
And, disappointed, gnash’d his teeth in vain.
He scour’d the seas, and to remotest shores,
With swelling sails, the trembling corsair fled.
Rich commerce flourish’d; and with busy oars
Dash’d the resounding surge. Nor less, at land,
His royal cares; wise, potent, gracious prince!
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 14-38.]
His subjects from their cruel foes he saved,
And, from rapacious savages, their flocks.
Cambria’s proud kings, though with reluctance, paid
Their tributary wolves; head after head,
In full account, till the woods yield no more,
And all the ravenous race, extinct, is lost.
In fertile pastures, more securely grazed
The social troops; and soon their large increase,
With curling fleeces, whiten’d all the plains.
But yet, alas! the wily fox remain’d,
A subtle, pilfering foe, prowling around
In midnight shades, and wakeful to destroy.
In the full fold, the poor defenceless lamb,
Seized by his guileful arts, with sweet warm blood,
Supplies a rich repast. The mournful ewe,
Her dearest treasure lost, through the dun night
Wanders perplex’d, and, darkling, bleats in vain:
While, in the adjacent bush, poor Philomel,
Herself a parent once, till wanton churls
Despoil’d her nest, joins in her loud laments,
With sweeter notes, and more melodious woe.
For these nocturnal thieves, huntsman, prepare
Thy sharpest vengeance. Oh! how glorious ’tis
To right the oppress’d, and bring the felon vile
To just disgrace! Ere yet the morning peep,
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 39-61.]
Or stars retire from the first blush of day,
With thy far-echoing voice alarm thy pack,
And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse,
Thick with entangling grass, or prickly furze,
With silence lead thy many-colour’d hounds,
In all their beauty’s pride. See! how they range
Dispersed; how busily, this way and that,
They cross, examining, with curious nose,
Each likely haunt. Hark! on the drag I hear
Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry
More nobly full, and swell’d with every mouth.
As straggling armies, at the trumpet’s voice,
Press to their standard; hither all repair,
And hurry through the woods with hasty step,
Rustling and full of hope; now, driven in heaps,
They push, they strive, while from his kennel sneaks
The conscious villain. See! he skulks along,
Sleek, at the shepherd’s cost, and plump, with meals
Purloin’d: so thrive the wicked here below.
Though high his brush he bear, though, tipp’d with white,
It gaily shine, yet ere the sun, declined,
Recall the shades of night, the pamper’d rogue
Shall rue his fate, reversed; and, at his heels,
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 62-84.]