HUNTING SONGS 



O'erthrown, as onward fearlessly 

 He sped with keen delight. 



He fell, as arrow-stricken 

 Falls an eagle in his flight. 



Who, reading now those pages, 

 Which his loss will more endear. 



His sudden fate recalling. 



Will not blot them with a tear ? 



And who among his comrades, 



When they o'er that valley ride. 

 Will not pause and point with sorrow 

 To the spot where Melville died ? 



Found at Last 



ONE day by a statue of Cupid beguiled. 

 Forth wander'd a maiden in search of the 

 child ; 

 In fancy she hoped a sweet infant to find, 



With a bow in his hand and a quiver behind. 



She knew the boy's shoulders were furnish 'd with 

 wings. 

 So she sought the green wood, where the nightin- 

 gale sings ; 

 The birds flutter'd round in the branches above, 

 But in vain she look'd there for the pinions of Love. 



She wander'd along where the meadows were strown 

 With the flowers and the verdure of hay yet un- 

 mown ; 

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