Hunting the Stag 121 



The starry fires elude the sight, 

 The shadows fly before the light, 



Far away. 

 Now, hark ! the woodland haunt is found. 

 For now the merry bugles sound 



Their sylvan lay. 

 As each sweet measure floats along. 

 Sweet Echo wakes her mimic song, 



Far away. 



The stag now roused, right onward speeds. 

 O'er hill and dale, the moor and meads. 



He's fain to stray. 

 His flight the shouting peasants view, 

 His steps the dashing hounds pursue, 



Far away. 

 All day untired his route we trace. 

 Exulting in the joyous chase 



Of such a day. 

 At length at mild eve's twilight gleam. 

 He's taken in the valley stream. 



Far away. 



Anon. 



The Wolmer Forest ^:> <^ ^::> 



THERE is an old keeper named Adams, whose 

 great-grandfather, grandfather, father, and self, 

 enjoyed the head keepership of Wolmer Forest in 

 succession for more than a hundred years. This 

 person assures me, that his father has often told 

 him, that Queen Anne, as she was journeying on 

 the Portsmouth road, did not think the Forest of 

 Wolmer beneath her royal regard. For she came 

 out of the great road at Lippock, which is just by, 

 and, reposing herself on a bank smoothed for that 



