Refounded from the hills; the neighing steed,
Wild for the chace; and the loud hunter's fhout;
O'er a weak, harmless, flying creature, all
Mix'd in mad tumult, and difcordant joy.

425

430

THE flag too, fingled from the herd, where long He rang'd the branching monarch of the shades, Before the tempeft drives. At first, in speed He, fprightly, puts his faith; and, rous'd by fear, Gives all his fwift aërial foul to flight; Against the breeze he darts, that way the more To leave the lefs'ning murd'rous cry behind; Deception fhort! tho' fleeter than the winds Blown o'er the keen-air'd mountain by the north, He burfts the thickets, glances thro' the glades, 435 And plunges deep into the wildeft wood; If flow, yet fure, adhesive to the track Hot-fteaming, up behind him come again Th' inhuman rout, and from the fhady depth Expel him, circling thro' his ev'ry fhift. He sweeps the foreft oft; and fobbing fees The glades, mild op'ning to the golden day i Where, in kind contest, with his butting friends He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy. Oft in the full-defcending flood he tries To lose the fcent, and lave his burning fides: Oft feeks the herd; the watchful herd alarm'd, With felfifh care avoid a brother's woe. What fhall he do? His once fo vivid nerves,

So full of buoyant fpirit, now no more

440

445

450

Inspire the course; but fainting breathless toil,
Sick, feizes on his heart: he stands at bay;
And puts his laft weak refuge in defpair.

The big round tears run down his dappled face;
He groans in anguifh; while the growling pack, 455
Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest,
And mark his beauteous checker'd fides with gore.

Of this enough. But if the filvan youth,
Whofe fervent blood boils into violence,
Must have the chace; behold, despising flight,
The rous'd-up lion, refolute, and flow,

460

Advancing full on the protended spear,

And coward-band, that circling wheel aloof.

Slunk from the cavern, and the troubled wood,
See the grim wolf; on him his fhaggy foe
Vindictive fix, and let the ruffian die :
Or, growling horrid, as the brindled boar
Grins fell deftruction, to the monster's heart
Let the dart lighten, from the nervous arm.

465

THESE BRITAIN knows not; give, ye BRITAINS, then Your fportive fury, pitylefs, to pour

Loose on the nightly robber of the fold:

Him, from his craggy winding haunts unearth'd,
Let all the thunder of the chace pursue.

471

Throw the broad ditch behind you; o'er the hedge,
High-bound, refiftlefs; nor the deep morass.

Refufe, but thro' the fhaking wilderness
Pick your nice way; into the perilous flood

476

Bear fearlefs, of the raging inftinct full;
And as you ride the torrent, to the banks
Your triumph found fonorous, running round,
From rock to rock, in circling echos toft;
Then scale the mountains to their woody tops;
Rush down the dang'rous steep; and o'er the lawn,
In fancy fwallowing up the space between,

480

485

Pour all your speed into the rapid game,
For happy he! who tops the wheeling chace ;
Has ev'ry maze evolv'd, and ev'ry guile

Difclos'd; who knows the merits of the pack;
Who faw the villain feiz'd, and dying hard,
Without complaint, tho' by an hundred mouths
Relentless torn: O glorious he, beyond
His daring peers! when the retreating horn
Calls them to ghoftly halls of grey renown,
With woodland honours grac'd; the fox's fur,
Depending decent from the roof; and spread
Round the drear walls, with antic figures fierce,
The ftag's large front: he then is loudest heard,
When the night staggers with feverer toils,
With feats Theffalian Centaurs never knew,
And their repeated wonders fhake the dome.

490

495

500

Bur firft the fuel'd chimney blazes wide; The tankards foam, and the ftrong table groans Beneath the fmoaking firloin, ftretch'd immenfe From fide to fide; in which, with defp'rate knife, 505 They deep incifion make, and talk the while Of ENGLAND'S glory, ne'er to be defac'd

While hence they borrow vigour: or amain
Into the pasty plung'd, at intervals,

If ftomach keen can intervals allow,
Relating all the glories of the chace.

510

Then fated Hunger bids his brother Thirst

Produce the mighty bowl; the mighty bowl,

515

520

Swell'd high with fiery juice, steams lib'ral round
A potent gale, delicious, as the breath
Of Maia to the love-fick fhepherdess,
On violets diffus'd, while soft she hears
Her panting fhepherd stealing to her arms.
Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn,
Mature and perfect, from his dark retreat
Of thirty years; and now his honest front
Flames in the light refulgent, not afraid
Ev'n with the vineyard's best produce to vie.
To cheat the thirsty moments, Whist a while
Walks his dull round, beneath a cloud of smoak, 525
Wreath'd, fragrant, from the pipe; or the quick dice,
In thunder leaping from the box, awake

The founding gammon: while romp-loving mifs
Is haul'd about, in gallantry robust.

AT last these puling idlenesses laid
Afide, frequent and full, the dry divan
Clofe in firm circle; and fet, ardent, in
For ferious drinking. Nor evafion fly,
Nor fober shift, is to the puking wretch
Indulg'd apart; but earnest, brimming bowls
Lave ev'ry foul, the table floating round,
VOL. I.
M

530

535

And pavement, faithlefs to the fuddled foot.

Thus as they fwim in mutual fwill, the talk,
Vociferous at once from twenty tongues,

539

Reels fast from theme to theme; from horses, hounds, To church or mistress, politics or ghost,

In endless mazes, intricate, perplex'd.

Mean-time, with fudden interruption, loud,
Th' impatient catch burfts from the joyous heart;
That moment touch'd is ev'ry kindred foul;

And, op'ning in a full-mouth'd Cry of joy,

545

The laugh, the flap, the jocund curfe go round; While, from their flumbers shook, the kennel'd hounds Mix in the mufic of the day again.

550

As when the tempeft, that has vex'd the deep,
The dark night long, with fainter murmurs falls :
So gradual finks their mirth. Their feeble tongues,
Unable to take up the cumbrous word,

Lie quite diffolv'd. Before their maudlin eyes,
Seen dim, and blue, the double tapers dance,
Like the fun wading thro' the misty sky.

555

Then, fliding foft, they drop. Confus'd above,
Glaffes and bottles, pipes and gazetteers,

As if the table even itself was drunk,

Lie a wet broken fcene; and wide, below,

560

Is heap'd the focial flaughter: where aftride

The lubber Pow'r in filthy triumph fits,

Slumbrous, inclining still from side to fide,

And steeps them drench'd in potent fleep till morn.

Perhaps fome doctor, of tremendous paunch,

565

Awful and deep, a black abyss of drink,