His forfeit head, and thirsting for his blood.
Heavens! what melodious strains! how beat our hearts,
Big with tumultuous joy! the loaded gales
Breathe harmony; and, as the tempest drives,
From wood to wood, through every dark recess,
The forest thunders, and the mountains shake.
The chorus swells; less various, and less sweet,
The trilling notes, when, in those very groves,
The feather’d choristers salute the spring,
And every bush in concert joins: or, when
The master’s hand, in modulated air,
Bids the loud organ breathe, and all the powers
Of musick, in one instrument combine
An universal minstrelsy. And now
In vain each earth he tries; the doors are barr’d,
Impregnable; nor is the covert safe;
He pants for purer air. Hark! what loud shouts
Re-echo through the groves!--he breaks away!
Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound
Strains o’er the lawn, to reach the distant pack.
’Tis triumph all, and joy. Now, my brave youths,
Now give a loose to the clean generous steed;
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 85-108.]
Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur:
But, in the madness of delight, forget
Your fears! Far o’er the rocky hills we range,
And dangerous our course; but, in the brave,
True courage never fails: in vain the stream
In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch,
Wide-gaping, threatens death: the craggy steep,
Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care,
And clings to every twig, gives us no pain;
But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold
To pounce his prey: then up the opponent hill,
By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft.
So ships, in winter seas, now sliding, sink
Adown the steepy wave, then, toss’d on high,
Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.
What lengths we pass! where will the wandering chase
Lead us, bewilder’d! smooth as swallows skim
The new-shorn mead, and far more swift, we fly.
See, my brave pack! how to the head they press,
Justling in close array; then, more diffuse,
Obliquely wheel, while, from their opening mouths,
The vollied thunder breaks. So, when the cranes
Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing
Their figure oft they change, and their loud clang
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 109-132.]
From cloud to cloud rebounds. How far behind
The hunter-crew, wide-straggling o’er the plain!
The panting courser now, with trembling nerves,
Begins to reel; urged by the goring spur,
Makes many a faint effort: he snorts, he foams;
The big round drops run trickling down his sides,
With sweat and blood distain’d. Look back, and view
The strange confusion of the vale below,
Where sour vexation reigns: see yon poor jade;
In vain the impatient rider frets and swears,
With galling spurs harrows his mangled sides;
He can no more; his stiff unpliant limbs,
Rooted in earth, unmoved and fix’d he stands,
For every cruel curse returns a groan,
And sobs, and faints, and dies! who, without grief,
Can view that pamper’d steed, his master’s joy,
His minion, and his daily care, well clothed,
Well fed with every nicer cate; no cost,
No labour, spared; who, when the flying chase
Broke from the copse, without a rival led
The numerous train; now, a sad spectacle
Of pride brought low, and humbled insolence,
Drove like a pannier’d ass, and scourged along!
While these, with loosen’d reins and dangling heels,
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 133-155.]
Hang on their reeling palfreys, that scarce bear
Their weights; another, in the treacherous bog,
Lies floundering, half ingulf’d. What biting thoughts
Torment the abandon’d crew! Old age laments
His vigour spent: the tall, plump, brawny youth,
Curses his cumbrous bulk; and envies, now,
The short pygmean race, he whilom kenn’d,
With proud insulting leer. A chosen few,
Alone, the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath
Their pleasing toils. Here, huntsman! from this highth
Observe yon birds of prey; if I can judge,
’Tis there the villain lurks: they hover round,
And claim him as their own. Was I not right?
See! there he creeps along; his brush he drags,
And sweeps the mire impure: from his wide jaws
His tongue unmoisten’d hangs; symptoms too sure
Of sudden death. Ha! yet he flies, nor yields
To black despair: but one loose more, and all
His wiles are vain. Hark, through yon village now
The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots,
And leafless elms, return the joyous sounds.
Through every homestall, and through every yard,
His midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies;
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 156-180.]
Through every hole he sneaks, through every jakes,
Plunging, he wades, besmear’d; and fondly hopes
In a superiour stench to lose his own:
But, faithful to the track, the unerring hounds,
With peals of echoing vengeance, close pursue.
And now, distress’d, no sheltering covert near,
Into the hen-roost creeps, whose walls, with gore
Distain’d, attest his guilt. There, villain! there
Expect thy fate deserved. And soon from thence
The pack, inquisitive, with clamour loud,
Drag out their trembling prize, and, on his blood,
With greedy transport feast. In bolder notes
Each sounding horn proclaims the felon dead;
And all the assembled village shouts for joy.
The farmer, who beholds his mortal foe
Stretch’d at his feet, applauds the glorious deed,
And, grateful, calls us to a short repast:
In the full glass the liquid amber smiles,
Our native product; and his good old mate,
With choicest viands, heaps the liberal board,
To crown our triumphs, and reward our toils.
Here must the instructive Muse, but with respect,
Censure that numerous pack, that crowd of state,
With which the vain profusion of the great
Covers the lawn, and shakes the trembling copse.
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 181-204.]
Pompous incumbrance! a magnificence
Useless, vexatious! for the wily fox,
Safe in the increasing number of his foes,
Kens well the great advantage: slinks behind,
And slyly creeps through the same beaten track,
And hunts them step by step; then views, escaped,
With inward ecstasy, the panting throng
In their own footsteps puzzled, foil’d, and lost.
So, when proud Eastern kings summon to arms
Their gaudy legions, from far distant climes
They flock in crowds, unpeopling half a world;
But when the day of battle calls them forth,
To charge the well-train’d foe, a band compact
Of chosen veterans, they press blindly on,
In heaps confused, by their own weapons fall,
A smoking carnage scatter’d o’er the plain.
Nor hounds alone this noxious brood destroy:
The plunder’d warrener full many a wile
Devises, to entrap his greedy foe,
Fat with nocturnal spoils. At close of day,
He silent drags his trail; then from the ground
Pares thin the close-grazed turf; there, with nice hand,
Covers the latent death, with curious springs
Prepared to fly at once, whene’er the tread
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 205-229.]
Of man or beast, unwarily shall press
The yielding surface: by the indented steel
With gripe tenacious held, the felon grins,
And struggles, but in vain: yet oft, ’tis known,
When every art has fail’d, the captive fox
Has shared the wounded joint, and, with a limb,
Compounded for his life. But if, perchance,
In the deep pitfall plunged, there’s no escape;
But unreprieved he dies, and, bleach’d in air,
The jest of clowns, his reeking carcase hangs.
Of these are various kinds; not even the king
Of brutes evades this deep devouring grave;
But, by the wily African betray’d,
Heedless of fate, within its gaping jaws
Expires, indignant. When the orient beam
With blushes paints the dawn, and all the race
Carnivorous, with blood full-gorged, retire
Into their darksome cells, there, satiate, snore
O’er dripping offals, and the mangled limbs
Of men and beasts, the painful forester
Climbs the high hills, whose proud aspiring tops,
With the tall cedar crown’d, and taper fir,
Assail the clouds; there, ’mong the craggy rocks,
And thickets intricate, trembling, he views
His footsteps in the sand, the dismal road
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 230-254.]
And avenue to death. Hither he calls
His watchful bands, and, low into the ground,
A pit they sink, full many a fathom deep:
Then, in the midst, a column high is rear’d,
The butt of some fair tree; upon whose top
A lamb is placed, just ravish’d from his dam;
And next, a wall they build, with stones and earth
Encircling round, and hiding from all view
The dreadful precipice. Now, when the shades
Of night hang lowering o’er the mountains brow,
And hunger keen, and pungent thirst of blood,
Rouze up the slothful beast, he shakes his sides,
Slow-rising from his lair, and stretches wide
His ravenous paws, with recent gore distain’d;
The forests tremble as he roars aloud,
Impatient to destroy. O’erjoy’d, he hears
The bleating innocent, that claims, in vain,
The shepherd’s care, and seeks, with piteous moan,
The foodful teat; himself, alas! design’d
Another’s meal. For now the greedy brute
Winds him from far; and, leaping o’er the mound,
To seize his trembling prey, headlong is plunged
Into the deep abyss. Prostrate he lies,
Astunn’d, and impotent. Ah! what avail
Thine eye-balls flashing fire, thy length of tail
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 255-279.]
That lashes thy broad sides, thy jaws besmear’d
With blood, and offals crude, thy shaggy mane,
The terrour of the woods, thy stately port,
And bulk enormous, since, by stratagem,
Thy strength is foil’d? Unequal is the strife,
When sovereign reason combats brutal rage.
On distant Ethiopia’s sun-burnt coasts,
The black inhabitants a pitfall frame,
But of a different kind, and different use:
With slender poles the wide capacious mouth,
And hurdles slight, they close; o’er these is spread
A floor of verdant turf, with all its flowers
Smiling delusive, and from strictest search
Concealing the deep grave that yawns below:
Then boughs of trees they cut, with tempting fruit,
Of various kinds, surcharged; the downy peach,
The clustering vine, and, of bright golden rind,
The fragrant orange. Soon as evening gray
Advances slow, besprinkling all around,
With kind refreshing dews, the thirsty glebe,
The stately elephant, from the close shade,
With step majestic, strides, eager to taste
The cooler breeze, that from the sea-beat shore
Delightful breathes, or, in the limpid stream,
To lave his panting sides; joyous he scents
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 280-304.]
The rich repast, unweeting of the death
That lurks within. And soon he, sporting, breaks
The brittle boughs, and greedily devours
The fruit delicious: ah! too dearly bought;
The price is life: for now the treacherous turf,
Trembling, gives way; and the unwieldy beast,
Self-sinking, drops into the dark profound.
So when dilated vapours, struggling, heave
The incumbent earth, if, chance, the cavern’d ground,
Shrinking, subside, and the thin surface yield,
Down sinks, at once, the ponderous dome, ingulf’d,
With all its towers. Subtle, delusive man,
How various are thy wiles! artful to kill
Thy savage foes, a dull unthinking race.
Fierce, from his lair, springs forth the speckled pard,
Thirsting for blood, and eager to destroy;
The huntsman flies, but to his flight alone
Confides not: at convenient distance fix’d,
A polish’d mirror stops, in full career,
The furious brute: he there his image views;
Spots against spots, with rage improving, glow;
Another pard his bristly whiskers curls,
Grins as he grins, fierce-menacing, and wide
Distends his opening paws; himself against
Himself opposed, and with dread vengeance arm’d.
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 305-329.]
The huntsman, now secure, with fatal aim
Directs the pointed spear, by which transfix’d,
He dies; and with him dies the rival shade.
Thus man innumerous engines forms, to assail
The savage kind; but most, the docile horse,
Swift, and confederate with man, annoys
His brethren of the plains; without whose aid
The hunter’s arts were vain, unskill’d to wage,
With the more active brutes, an equal war;
But borne by him, without the well-train’d pack,
Man dares his foe, on wings of wind secure.
Him the fierce Arab mounts, and, with his troop
Of bold compeers, ranges the desert wild,
Where, by the magnet’s aid, the traveller
Steers his untrodden course; yet oft, on land,
Is wreck’d, in the high-rolling waves of sand
Immersed, and lost; while these intrepid bands,
Safe in their horses’ speed, out-fly the storm,
And scouring round, make men and beasts their prey.
The grisly boar is singled from his herd,
As large as that in Erimanthian woods,
A match for Hercules: round him they fly,
In circles wide; and each, in passing, sends
His feather’d death into his brawny sides.
But perilous the attempt; for, if the steed
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 330-354.]
Haply too near approach, or the loose earth
His footing fail, the watchful angry beast
The advantage spies, and, at one sidelong glance,
Rips up his groin. Wounded, he rears aloft,
And, plunging, from his back the rider hurls
Precipitant; then, bleeding, spurns the ground,
And drags his reeking entrails o’er the plain.
Meanwhile the surly monster trots along,
But with unequal speed; for still they wound,
Swift wheeling in the spacious ring: a wood
Of darts upon his back he bears; adown
His tortured sides the crimson torrents roll,
From many a gaping font; and now at last,
Staggering, he falls, in blood and foam expires.
But whither roves my devious Muse, intent
On antique tales, while yet the royal stag
Unsung remains? Tread, with respectful awe,
Windsor’s green glades, where Denham, tuneful bard,
Charm’d once the listening Dryads with his song,
Sublimely sweet. O grant me, sacred shade,
To glean, submiss, what thy full sickle leaves!
The morning sun, that gilds, with trembling rays,
Windsor’s high towers, beholds the courtly train
Mount for the chase; nor views in all his course
A scene so gay: heroick, noble youths,
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 355-379.]
In arts and arms renown’d, and lovely nymphs,
The fairest of this isle, where beauty dwells,
Delighted, and deserts her Paphian grove,
For our more favour’d shades; in proud parade
These shine magnificent, and press around
The royal happy pair. Great in themselves,
They smile superiour; of external show
Regardless, while their inbred virtues give
A lustre to their power, and grace their court
With real splendours, far above the pomp
Of Eastern kings, in all their tinsel pride.
Like troops of Amazons, the female band
Prance round their cars; not in refulgent arms,
As those of old; unskill’d to wield the sword,
Or bend the bow, these kill with surer aim.
The royal offspring, fairest of the fair,
Lead on the splendid train. Anna, more bright
Than summer suns, or as the lightning keen,
With irresistible effulgence arm’d,
Fires every heart: he must be more than man
Who, unconcern’d, can bear the piercing ray.
Amelia, milder than the blushing dawn,
With sweet engaging air, but equal power,
Insensibly subdues, and in soft chains
Her willing captives leads. Illustrious maids!
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 380-404.]
Ever triumphant! whose victorious charms,
Without the needless aid of high descent,
Had awed mankind, and taught the world’s great lords
To bow, and sue for grace. But who is he,
Fresh as a rose-bud newly blown, and fair
As opening lilies, on whom every eye
With joy and admiration dwells? See, see!
He reins his docile barb with manly grace.
Is it Adonis, for the chase array’d?
Or Britain’s second hope? Hail, blooming youth!
May all your virtues, with your years, improve,
Till, in consummate worth, you shine the pride
Of these our days, and, to succeeding times,
A bright example. As his guard of mutes
On the great sultan wait, with eyes deject,
And fix’d on earth, no voice, no sound, is heard
Within the wide serail, but all is hush’d,
And awful silence reigns; thus stand the pack,
Mute, and unmoved, and cowering low to earth,
While pass the glittering court, and royal pair:
So disciplined those hounds, and so reserved,
Whose honour ’tis to glad the hearts of kings:
But soon the winding horn, and huntsman’s voice,
Let loose the general chorus; far around
Joy spreads its wings, and the gay morning smiles.
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 405-429.]
Unharbour’d now, the royal stag forsakes
His wonted lair; he shakes his dappled sides,
And tosses high his beamy head; the copse
Beneath his antlers bends. What doubling shifts
He tries! not more the wily hare: in these
Would still persist, did not the full-mouth’d pack,
With dreadful concert, thunder in his rear.
The woods reply, the hunter’s cheering shouts
Float through the glades, and the wide forest rings.
How merrily they chant! their nostrils deep
Inhale the grateful steam. Such is the cry,
And such the harmonious din, the soldier deems
The battle kindling, and the statesman grave
Forgets his weighty cares; each age, each sex,
In the wild transport joins; luxuriant joy,
And pleasure in excess, sparkling, exult
On every brow, and revel unrestrained.
How happy art thou, man! when thou’rt no more
Thyself; when all the pangs, that grind thy soul,
In rapture, and in sweet oblivion lost,
Yield a short interval, and ease from pain!
See, the swift courser strains, his shining hoofs
Securely beat the solid ground. Who now
The dangerous pitfall fears, with tangling heath
High-overgrown? or who the quivering bog,
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 430-454.]
Soft yielding to the step? All now is plain,
Plain as the strand, sea-laved, that stretches far
Beneath the rocky shore. Glades crossing glades,
The forest opens to our wondering view:
Such was the king’s command. Let tyrants fierce
Lay waste the world; his the more glorious part,
To check their pride; and when the brazen voice
Of war is hush’d, as erst victorious Rome,
To employ his station’d legions in the works
Of peace; to smooth the rugged wilderness,
To drain the stagnate fen, to raise the slope
Depending road, and to make gay the face
Of nature with the embellishments of art.
How melts my beating heart! as I behold
Each lovely nymph, our island’s boast and pride,
Push on the generous steed, that strokes along
O’er rough, o’er smooth; nor heeds the steepy hill,
Nor falters in the extended vale below;
Their garments loosely waving in the wind,
And all the flush of beauty in their cheeks:
While at their sides their pensive lovers wait,
Direct their dubious course; now chill’d with fear,
Solicitous, and now with love inflamed.
O grant, indulgent Heaven, no rising storm
May darken, with black wings, this glorious scene!
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 455-478.]
Should some malignant power thus damp our joys,
Vain were the gloomy cave, such as, of old,
Betray’d to lawless love the Tyrian queen:
For Britain’s virtuous nymphs are chaste, as fair;
Spotless, unblamed, with equal triumph reign
In the dun gloom, as in the blaze of day.
Now the blown stag through woods, bogs, roads, and streams,
Has measured half the forest; but, alas!
He flies in vain; he flies not from his fears.
Though far he cast the lingering pack behind,
His haggard fancy still, with horror, views
The fell destroyer; still the fatal cry
Insults his ears, and wounds his trembling heart.
So the poor fury-haunted wretch, his hands
In guiltless blood distain’d, still seems to hear
The dying shrieks; and the pale threatening ghost
Moves as he moves, and, as he flies, pursues.
See here, his slot; up yon green hill he climbs,
Pants on its brow awhile; sadly looks back
On his pursuers, covering all the plain;
But, wrung with anguish, bears not long the sight,
Shoots down the steep, and sweats along the vale;
There mingles with the herd, where once he reign’d
Proud monarch of the groves; whose clashing beam
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 479-503.]
His rivals awed, and whose exalted power
Was still rewarded with successful love.
But the base herd have learn’d the ways of men;
Averse they fly, or, with rebellious aim,
Chase him from thence: needless their impious deed,
The huntsman knows him by a thousand marks,
Black, and imboss’d; nor are his hounds deceived;
Too well distinguish these, and never leave
Their once devoted foe: familiar grows
His scent, and strong their appetite to kill.
Again he flies, and, with redoubled speed,
Skims o’er the lawn; still the tenacious crew
Hang on the track, aloud demand their prey,
And push him many a league. If haply then
Too far escaped, and the gay courtly train
Behind are cast, the huntsman’s clanging whip
Stops full their bold career: passive they stand,
Unmoved, an humble, an obsequious crowd,
As if, by stern Medusa, gazed to stones.
So, at their general’s voice, whole armies halt,
In full pursuit, and check their thirst of blood.
Soon, at the king’s command, like hasty streams
Damm’d up a while, they foam, and pour along
With fresh recruited might. The stag, who hoped
His foes were lost, now once more hears, astunn’d,
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 504-528.]
The dreadful din: he shivers every limb;
He starts, he bounds; each bush presents a foe.
Press’d by the fresh relay, no pause allow’d,
Breathless and faint, he falters in his pace,
And lifts his weary limbs with pain, that scarce
Sustain their load: he pants, he sobs, appall’d;
Drops down his heavy head to earth, beneath
His cumbrous beams oppress’d. But if, perchance,
Some prying eye surprise him, soon he rears
Erect his towering front, bounds o’er the lawn,
With ill-dissembled vigour, to amuse
The knowing forester; who inly smiles
At his weak shifts, and unavailing frauds.
So midnight tapers waste their last remains,
Shine forth a while, and, as they blaze, expire.
From wood to wood redoubling thunders roll,
And bellow through the vales; the moving storm
Thickens amain, and loud triumphant shouts,
And horns, still warbling in each glade, prelude
To his approaching fate. And now, in view,
With hobbling gait, and high, exerts, amazed,
What strength is left: to the last dregs of life
Reduced, his spirits fail, on every side
Hemm’d in, besieged; not the least opening left
To gleaming hope, the unhappy’s last reserve.
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 529-553.]
Where shall he turn? or whither fly? Despair
Gives courage to the weak. Resolved to die,
He fears no more, but rushes on his foes,
And deals his deaths around; beneath his feet
These grovelling lie, those, by his antlers gored,
Defile the ensanguined plain. Ah! see, distress’d,
He stands at bay against yon knotty trunk,
That covers well his rear, his front presents
An host of foes. O shun, ye noble train,
The rude encounter, and believe your lives
Your country’s due alone. As now aloof
They wing around, he finds his soul upraised,
To dare some great exploit; he charges home
Upon the broken pack, that, on each side,
Fly diverse; then, as o’er the turf he strains,
He vents the cooling stream, and, up the breeze,
Urges his course with eager violence:
Then takes the soil, and plunges in the flood
Precipitant; down the mid-stream he wafts
Along, till, like a ship distress’d, that runs
Into some winding creek, close to the verge
Of a small island, for his weary feet
Sure anchorage he finds, there skulks, immersed;
His nose, alone above the wave, draws in
The vital air; all else beneath the flood
[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 554-578.]
Conceal’d, and lost, deceives each prying eye
Of man or brute. In vain the crowding pack
Draw on the margin of the stream, or cut
The liquid wave with oary feet, that move
In equal time. The gliding waters leave
No trace behind, and his contracted pores
But sparingly perspire: the huntsman strains
His labouring lungs, and puffs his cheeks in vain.
At length a blood-hound, bold, studious to kill,
And exquisite of sense, winds him from far;
Headlong he leaps into the flood, his mouth
Loud-opening, spends amain, and his wide throat
Swells every note with joy; then fearless dives
Beneath the wave, hangs on his haunch, and wounds
The unhappy brute, that flounders in the stream,
Sorely distress’d, and, struggling, strives to mount
The steepy shore. Haply once more escaped;
Again he stands at bay, amid the groves
Of willows, bending low their downy heads.
Outrageous transport fires the greedy pack;
These swim the deep, and those crawl up with pain
The slippery bank, while others on firm land
Engage; the stag repels each bold assault,
Maintains his post, and wounds for wounds returns.
As when some wily corsair boards a ship