Hunting the Stag 131 



The Chase is O'er, the Hart Is Slain <p^ 



THE chase is o'er, the hart is slain, 

 The stateliest hart that graced the plain ; 

 With breath of bugles wind his knell. 

 Then lay him low in death's drear dell ! 



Nor beauteous form, nor dappled hide ! 

 Nor branching horns can long abide ; 

 Nor fleetest foot that scuds the heath ; 

 Escapes the fleeter huntsman — Death. 



The hart is slain ; his faithful deer, 

 In spite of hounds or huntsmen near. 

 Despising Death and all his train, 

 Laments her hart, untimely slain ! 



The chase is o'er, the hart is slain. 

 The gentlest hart that graced the plain ; 

 Blow soft your bugles, — wind his knell. 

 Then lay him low in Death's drear dell. 



Anon. 



