268 Somervile's [third 



Thefe grovelling lie, thofeby his antlers gor'd 

 Defile th'enfanguin'd plain. Ah! fee cliftrefs'd 

 He flands at bay againft yon knotty trunk. 

 That covers well his rear; his front prefents 

 An hod of foes. O! fhun, ye noble train. 

 The rude encounter, and believe your lives 

 Your country's due alone. As now aloof 

 They wing around, he finds his foul uprais'd 

 To dare fome great exploit : he charges home 

 Upon the broken pack, that on each fide 

 Fly diverfe j then as o'er the turf he ftrains. 

 He vents the cooling ftream, and up the breeze 

 Urges his courfe with eager violence : 

 Then takes the foil, and plunges in the flood 

 Precipitant ; down the mid-ftream he wafts 

 Along, till, (like a Ihip diftrefs'd, that runs 

 Into fome winding creek,) clofe to the verge 

 Of a fmall ifland, for his weary feet 

 Sure anchorage he finds, there fkulks immers'd. 

 His nofe alone above the wave, draws in 

 The vital air ; all elfe beneath the flood 

 Conceal'd, and loft, deceives each prying eye 

 Of man or brute. In vain the crowding pack 

 Draw on the margin of the ftream, or cut 

 The liquid wave with oary feet, that move 

 In equal time. The gliding waters leave 

 No trace behind, and his contrafted pores 

 But fparingly perfpire : the huntfman ftrains 

 His lab'ring lungs, and puffs his cheeks in vain : 



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