The tumults raised within their little breasts, Their inward ecstasy, their pleasing sport Huntsman, lead on! behind the clustering pack 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, 130 Th' harmonious concert breaks; till more assured 135 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 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, That glads their fluttering hearts. As winds let loose 140 145 150 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. ROBERT BLAIR FROM THE GRAVE WHILE Some affect the sun, and some the shade, Their aims as various, as the roads they take Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all Eternal king! whose potent arm sustains 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 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, 5 ΙΟ 15 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 See yonder hallowed fane; - the pious work The wind is up: - Hark! how it howls! - Methinks, 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, 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. |