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The tumults raised within their little breasts,
But give a loose to all their frolic play:
100 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 th' horizon peeps,
105 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 siniling countenance appears
110 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:
Spare not the straggling cur that wildly roves;
115 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 120 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. 125 If some staunch hound, with his authentic 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 fallowed ground
How leisurely they work, and many a pause

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Th' harmonious concert breaks; till more assured
With joy redoubled the low valleys ring.
What artful labyrinths perplex their way!

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Ah! there she lies; how close: she pants, she doubts If now she lives; she trembles as she sits,

With horror seized. The withered 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 betrayed.
At distance draw thy pack, let all be hushed,
No clamour loud, no frantic 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 mew 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

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From the dark caverns of the blustering god,

155 They burst away, and sweep the dewy lawn.

Hope gives them wings, while she's spurred on by

fear.

The welkin rings, men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods, In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths, Stripped for the chase, give all your souls to joy! 160 See how their coursers, than the mountain roe More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick cloud Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print The grass unbruised; with emulation fired They strain to lead the field, top the barred gate, 165 O'er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend

O'er their arched necks; with steady hands, by turns Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage. Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs, 170 Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone,

And with the panting winds lag far behind.

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ROBERT BLAIR

FROM THE GRAVE

WHILE Some affect the sun, and some the shade,
Some flee the city, some the hermitage;

Their aims as various, as the roads they take
In journeying through life; - the task be mine,
To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb;

Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all
These travellers meet. Thy succours I implore,

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Eternal king! whose potent arm sustains

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The keys of Hell and Death. — The Grave, dread thing!

Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appalled

Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah! how dark

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Thy long-extended realms, and rueful wastes !

Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark

night,

Dark as was chaos, ere the infant Sun

Was rolled together, or had tried his beams

Athwart the gloom profound. The sickly taper,
By glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults,
(Furred round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime,)
Lets fall a supernumerary horror,

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20 And only serves to make thy night more irksome. Well do I know thee by thy trusty Yew,

Cheerless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell
'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms:
Where light-heeled ghosts, and visionary shades,
25 Beneath the wan, cold Moon (as Fame reports)
Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds,
No other merriment, dull tree! is thine.

See yonder hallowed fane; - the pious work
Of names once famed, now dubious or forgot,
30 And buried midst the wreck of things which were;
There lie interred the more illustrious dead.

The wind is up: - Hark! how it howls! - Methinks,
Till now, I never heard a sound so dreary:

Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul bird, 35 Rooked in the spire, screams loud; the gloomy aisles Black plastered, and hung round with shreds of 'scutcheons,

And tattered coats of arms, send back the sound,
Laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults,

The mansions of the dead. Roused from their

slumbers,

40 In grim array the grisly spectres rise,

Grin horrible, and, obstinately sullen,

Pass and repass, hushed as the foot of night.
Again the screech-owl shrieks - ungracious sound!
I'll hear no more; it makes one's blood run chill.
45 Quite round the pile, a row of reverend elms,

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