MODERN FARRIER. 537 



^Now, my lad, mind the huntsman's halloo, and 

 tstop to those hounds which he encourages. — He is 

 right ; — that, doubtless, is the hunted fox. — Now 

 they are off again." 



" What lerifTths we pass ! where will the wand'ring chase 

 Lead us bewilder'd ! smooth as swallows skim 

 The new-shorn mead, and far more swift we fly. 

 See my brave pack ; how to the head they press. 

 Jostling in close array, tlien more diffuse 

 Obliquely wheels while from their op'ning mouths 

 The vollied thunder breaks. 



. Look back and view 



The strange confusion of the vale below. 



Where sore vexation reigns ; 



Old age laments 



His vigour spent : the tall, plump, brawny youth 

 Curses his cumbrous bulk ; and envies now 

 The short Pygmean race, he whilom kenn'd 

 With proud insulting leer. A chosen few 

 Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath 

 Their pleasing toils." 



Somerville. 



Ha ! a check. — Now for a moment's patience. 



We press too close upon the hounds. — Huntsman, 

 stand still ; as yet, they want you not. — How admi- 

 rably they spread ! how wide they cast ! is there a 

 single hound that does not try ? if such a one there 

 be, he ne'er shall hunt again. There, Trueman is 

 on the scent ; he feathers, yet still is doubtful ; 'tis 

 right ! how readily they join him ! See those wide- 

 casting hounds, how they fly forward, to recover the 

 ground they have lost ! Mind Lightning, how she 

 dashes ; and Mungo, how he works ! Old Frantic, 

 too, now pushes forward ; she knows, as well as we, 

 the fox is sinking. 



" On ! yet he flies, nor yields 



To black despair. But one loose more, and all 

 His wiles are vain. Hark ! thro' yon village now 

 The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots. 

 And leafless elms return the joyous sound. 

 Thro' ev'ry homestall, and thro' ev'ry yard. 

 His midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies ; 



3 Y 



