PO PR Y. 
>Tis night—the shade of keep and spire 
Obscurely dance in Evan’s stream, 
And on the wave the warder’s fire ' 
{s chequering the moon-light beam. 
Fades slow their light ;. the east is grey ; 
The weary warder leaves his tower ; 
Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds bay, 
And merry hunters quit the bower. — 
The drawbridge falls—they hurry out— 
Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 
As dashing o’er, the jovial route 
Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein.” 
First of his troop, the chief rode on ; 
His shouting merry-men throng behind ; 
The steed of princely Hamilton 
Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 
From the thick copse the roe-bucks bound, 
The startling red-deer seuds the plain, 
For the hoarse bugle’s warrior sound 
Has rous’d the mountain haunts again. 
Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 
Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, 
What sullen roar comes down the gale, 
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ? 
Mightiest of all the beasts of chace, 
That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race, 
The mountain-bull comes thundering on. 
Fierce on the hunter’s quiver’d band, 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, - 
Spurns with black hoof and horn the sand, 
And tosses high his mane of snow. 
Aim’d well the chieftain’s lance has flown, 
Struggling in blood the savage lies ; 
His roar is sunk in hollow groan— 
Sound merry huntsmen! sound the pryse.* 
* Pryse-—the note blown at the death of the game, 
997 
Tis 
