BOOK III.

THE 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.

In Albion's isle when glorious Edgar reigned,

He wisely provident, from her white cliffs

Launched half her forests, and with numerous fleets

Covered 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, gnashed his teeth in vain.

He scoured the seas, and to remotest shores

With swelling sails the trembling corsair fled.

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Rich commerce flourished; and with busy oars

Dashed the resounding surge. Nor less at land

His royal cares; wise, potent, gracious prince!

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

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The social troops; and soon their large increase

With curling fleeces whitened all the plains.

But yet, alas! the wily fox remained,

A subtle, pilfering foe, prowling around 24

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 perplexed, and darkling bleats in vain:

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While in the adjacent bush, poor Philomel,

(Herself a parent once, till wanton churls

Despoiled 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 oppressed, and bring the felon vile

To just disgrace! Ere yet the morning peep,

Or stars retire from the first blush of day,

With thy far-echoing voice alarm thy pack,

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And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse,

Thick with entangling grass, or prickly furze,

With silence lead thy many-coloured 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 swelled with every mouth.

As straggling armies at the trumpet's voice,

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Press to their standard; hither all repair,

And hurry through the woods; with hasty step

Bustling, and full of hope; now driven on 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

Purloined. So thrive the wicked here below.

Though high his brush he bear, though tipped with white

It gaily shine; yet ere the sun declined

Recall the shades of night, the pampered rogue

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Shall rue his fate reversed; and at his heels

Behold the just avenger, swift to seize

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,

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The feathered 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 music in one instrument combine,

An universal minstrelsy. And now

In vain each earth he tries, the doors are barred

Impregnable, nor is the covert safe;

He pants for purer air. Hark! what loud shouts

Re-echo through the groves! he breaks away,

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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;

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

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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 tossed on high

Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.

What lengths we pass! where will the wandering chase

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Lead us bewildered! smooth as the swallows skim

The new-shorn mead, and far more swift we fly.

See my brave pack! how to the head they press,

Jostling 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

From cloud to cloud rebounds. How far behind

The hunter-crew, wide straggling o'er the plain!

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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 distained. 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

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Rooted in earth, unmoved and fixed he stands,

For every cruel curse returns a groan,

And sobs, and faints, and dies. Who without grief

Can view that pampered 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,

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Drove like a panniered ass, and scourged along.

While these with loosened reins, and dangling heels,

Hang on their reeling palfreys, that scarce bear

Their weights; another in the treacherous bog

Lies floundering half engulfed. What biting thoughts

Torment the abandoned 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

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Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath

Their pleasing toils. Here, huntsman, from this height

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 unmoistened hangs; symptoms too sure

Of sudden death. Ha! yet he flies, nor yields

To black despair. But one loose more, and all

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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;

Through every hole he sneaks, through every jakes

Plunging he wades besmeared, and fondly hopes

In a superior stench to lose his own:

But faithful to the track, the unerring hounds

With peals of echoing vengeance close pursue.

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And now distressed, no sheltering covert near,

Into the hen-roost creeps, whose walls with gore

Distained 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

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Stretched 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.

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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 slily 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, foiled and lost.

So when proud Eastern kings summon to arms

Their gaudy legions, from far distant climes

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They flock in crowds, unpeopling half a world:

But when the day of battle calls them forth

To charge the well-trained foe, a band compact

Of chosen veterans; they press blindly on,

In heaps confused, by their own weapons fall,

A smoking carnage scattered o'er the plain.

Nor hounds alone this noxious brood destroy:

The plundered warrener full many a wile

Devises to entrap his greedy foe,

Fat with nocturnal spoils. At close of day,

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With silence 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

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 failed, the captive fox

Has shared the wounded joint, and with a limb

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Compounded for his life. But if perchance

In the deep pitfall plunged, there's no escape;

But unreprieved he dies, and bleached 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 betrayed,

Heedless of fate, within its gaping jaws

Expires indignant. When the orient beam

With blushes paints the dawn; and all the race

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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 224

Climbs the high hills, whose proud aspiring tops,

With the tall cedar crowned, 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

And avenue to death. Hither he calls

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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 reared,

The butt of some fair tree; upon whose top

A lamb is placed, just ravished 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 mountain's brow;

And hunger keen, and pungent thirst of blood,

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Rouse up the slothful beast, he shakes his sides,

Slow-rising from his lair, and stretches wide

His ravenous jaws, with recent gore distained.

The forests tremble, as he roars aloud,

Impatient to destroy. O'erjoyed he hears

The bleating innocent, that claims in vain

The shepherd's care, and seeks with piteous moan

The foodful teat; himself, alas! designed

Another's meal. For now the greedy brute

Winds him from far; and leaping o'er the mound

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To seize his trembling prey, headlong is plunged

Into the deep abyss. Prostrate he lies

Astunned and impotent. Ah! what avail

Thine eye-balls flashing fire, thy length of tail,

That lashes thy broad sides, thy jaws besmeared

With blood and offals crude, thy shaggy mane

The terror of the woods, thy stately port,

And bulk enormous, since by stratagem

Thy strength is foiled? Unequal is the strife,

When sovereign reason combats brutal rage.

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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,

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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

The rich repast, unweeting of the death

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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 caverned ground

Shrinking subside, and the thin surface yield,

Down sinks at once the ponderous dome, engulfed

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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 fixed,

A polished mirror stops in full career

The furious brute: he there his image views;

Spots against spots with rage improving glow;

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Another pard his bristly whiskers curls,

Grins as he grins, fierce-menacing, and wide

Distends his opening jaws; himself against

Himself opposed, and with dread vengeance armed.

The huntsman now secure, with fatal aim

Directs the pointed spear, by which transfixed

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

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His brethren of the plains; without whose aid

The hunter's arts are vain, unskilled to wage

With the more active brutes an equal war.

But borne by him, without the well-trained pack,

Man dares his foe, on wings of wind secure.

Him the fierce Arab mounts, and with his troop

Of bold compeers, ranges the deserts wild,

Where by the magnet's aid, the traveller

Steers his untrodden course; yet oft on land

Is wrecked, in the high-rolling waves of sand

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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 feathered death into his brawny sides.

But perilous the attempt. For if the steed

Haply too near approach; or the loose earth

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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

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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,

Charmed once the listening dryads, with his song

Sublimely sweet. Oh! grant me, sacred shade,

To glean submiss what thy full sickle leaves.

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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: heroic, noble youths,

In arts and arms renowned, and lovely nymphs

The fairest of this isle, where Beauty dwells

Delighted, and deserts her Paphian grove

For our more favoured shades: in proud parade

These shine magnificent, and press around

The royal happy pair. Great in themselves,

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They smile superior; 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; unskilled to wield the sword,

Or bend the bow, these kill with surer aim.

The royal offspring, fairest of the fair,

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Lead on the splendid train. Anna, more bright

Than summer suns, or as the lightning keen,

With irresistible effulgence armed,

Fires every heart. He must be more than man,

Who unconcerned 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,

Ever triumphant! whose victorious charms,

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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 arrayed?

Or Britain's second hope? Hail, blooming youth![9]

May all your virtues with your years improve,

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Till in consumate 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 fixed on earth, no voice, no sound is heard

Within the wide serail, but all is hushed,

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,

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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.

Unharboured 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-mouthed pack

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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

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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

Soft yielding to the step? All now is plain,

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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 hushed (as erst victorious Rome)

To employ his stationed legions in the works

Of peace; to smoothe the rugged wilderness,

To drain the stagnate fen, to raise the slope

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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,

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Direct their dubious course; now chilled with fear

Solicitous, and now with love inflamed.

Oh! grant, indulgent Heaven, no rising storm

May darken with black wings, this glorious scene!

Should some malignant power thus damp our joys,

Vain were the gloomy cave, such as of old

Betrayed 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.

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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 distained) still seems to hear

The dying shrieks; and the pale threatening ghost

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Moves as he moves, and as he flies pursues.

See here his slot; up yon green hill he climbs,

Pants on its brow a while, 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 reigned

Proud monarch of the groves, whose clashing beam

His rivals awed, and whose exalted power

Was still rewarded with successful love.

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But the base herd have learned 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 embossed; 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

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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

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Dammed up a while, they foam, and pour along

With fresh-recruited might. The stag, who hoped

His foes were lost, now once more hears astunned

The dreadful din; he shivers every limb,

He starts, he bounds; each bush presents a foe.

Pressed by the fresh relay, no pause allowed,

Breathless, and faint, he falters in his pace,

And lifts his weary limbs with pain, that scarce

Sustain their load! he pants, he sobs appalled;

Drops down his heavy head to earth, beneath

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His cumbrous beams oppressed. 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

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Thickens amain, and loud triumphant shouts,

And horns shrill-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

Hemmed in, besieged; not the least opening left

To gleaming hope, the unhappy's last reserve.

Where shall he turn? or whither fly? Despair

Gives courage to the weak. Resolved to die,

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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 distressed

He stands at bay against yon knotty trunk,

That covers well his rear, his front presents

An host of foes. Oh! 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

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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 distressed, that runs

Into some winding creek) close to the verge

Of a small island, for his weary feet

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Sure anchorage he finds, there skulks immersed.

His nose alone above the wave draws in

The vital air; all else beneath the flood

Concealed, 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

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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 distressed, and struggling strives to mount

The steepy shore. Haply once more escaped,

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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

Full-freighted, or from Afric's golden coasts,

Or India's wealthy strand, his bloody crew

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Upon her deck he slings; these in the deep

Drop short, and swim to reach her steepy sides,

And clinging, climb aloft; while those on board

Urge on the work of fate; the master bold,

Pressed to his last retreat, bravely resolves

To sink his wealth beneath the whelming wave,

His wealth, his foes, nor unrevenged to die.

So fares it with the stag: so he resolves

To plunge at once into the flood below,

Himself, his foes in one deep gulf immersed.

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Ere yet he executes this dire intent,

In wild disorder once more views the light;

Beneath a weight of woe, he groans distressed:

The tears run trickling down his hairy cheeks;

He weeps, nor weeps in vain. The king beholds

His wretched plight, and tenderness innate

Moves his great soul. Soon at his high command

Rebuked, the disappointed, hungry pack

Retire submiss, and grumbling quit their prey.

Great Prince! from thee, what may thy subjects hope;

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So kind, and so beneficent to brutes?

O mercy, heavenly born! Sweet attribute!

Thou great, thou best prerogative of power!

Justice may guard the throne, but joined with thee,

On rocks of adamant it stands secure,

And braves the storm beneath; soon as thy smiles

Gild the rough deep, the foaming waves subside,

And all the noisy tumult sinks in peace.

The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase With Memoirs and Critical Dissertations, by the Rev. George Gilfillan · 第 3 / 4 章