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 His rivals aw'd, 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 imbost; nor are his hounds deceiv'd; 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 escap'd, and the gay courtly train Behind are cast, the huntsman's clanging whip Stops full their bold career; passive they stand, Unmov'd, an humble, an obsequious crowd, As if by stern Medusa gaz'd 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 awhile, they foam, and pour along With fresh recruited might. The stag, who hop'd His foes were lost, now once more hears astunn'd 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 faulters 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 surprize 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 awhile, 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 shrill-warbling in each glade, prelude To his approaching fate. And now in view With hobbling gait, and high, exerts amaz'd What strength is left: to the last dregs of life Reduc'd, his spirits fail, on every side Hemm'd in, besieg'd; not the least opening left To gleaming hope, th' unhappy's last reserve. Where shall he turn? or whither fly? Despair
Gives courage to the weak. Resolv'd 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 gor'd Defile th' ensanguin'd 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 uprais'd, 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 equal 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 immers'd. His nose alone above the wave draws in The vital air; all else beneath the flood 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 Th' unhappy brute, that flounders in the stream Sorely distress'd, and struggling strives to mount The steepy shore. Haply once more escap'd, 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 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, Press'd to his last retreat, bravely resolves To sink his wealth beneath the whelming wave, His wealth, his foes, nor unreveng❜d 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 gulph immers❜d. Ere yet he executes this dire intent, In wild disorder once more views the light; Beneath a weight of woe he groans distress'd,
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 Rebuk'd, the disappointed, hungry pack,
Retire submiss, and grumbling quit their prey. Great Prince! from thee what may thy subjects
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, join'd 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.
Of the necessity of destroying some beasts, and preserving others for the use of man. Of breeding of hounds; the season for this business. The choice of the dog, of great moment. Of the litter of whelps. Of the number to be reared. Of setting them out to their several walks. Care to be taken to prevent their hunting too soon. Of entering the whelps. Of breaking them from running at sheep. Of the diseases of hounds. Of their age. Of madness; two sorts of it described, the dumb and outrageous madness: its dreadful effects. Burning of the wound recommended as preventing all ill consequences. The infectious hounds to be separated, and fed
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