142 THOUGHTS ON HUNTING 



In foaming eddies whirls ; in vain the ditch, 



Wide gaping, threatens death. The craggy steep, 



Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care, 



And clings to ev'ry twig, gives us no pain ; 



But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold 



To pounce his prey. Then up th' opponent hill, 



By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft : 



So ships, in winter seas, now sliding sink 



Adown the steepy wave, then toss'd on high, 



Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.— SOMERVILLE. 



It was then the fox I saw, as we came down the hill : 

 those crows directed me which way to look, and the 

 sheep ran from him as he passed along. The hounds 

 are now on the very spot ; yet the sheep stop them 

 not, for they dash beyond them. Now see with what 

 eagerness they cross the plain ! Galloper no longer 

 keeps his place. Brusher takes it : see how he flings 

 for the scent, and how impetuously he runs ; how 

 eagerly he took the lead, and how he strives to keep 

 it ! yet Victor comes up apace : he reaches him ! 

 Observe what an excellent race it is between them ! 

 it is doubtful which will reach the cover first. How 

 equally they run ! how eagerly they strain ! Now 

 Victor, Victor ! Ah, Brusher, thou art beaten, Victor 

 first tops the hedge ! See there ; see how they all 

 take it in their strokes ! The hedge cracks with their 

 weight, so many jump at once ! 



Now hastes the whipper-in to the other side of the 

 cover : he is right, unless he head the fox. 



Heav'ns! what melodious strains ! how beat our hearts 



Big with tumultuous joy! the loaded gales 



Breathe harmony ; and as the tempest drives 



From wood to wood, thro' ev'ry dark recess 



The forest thunders, and the mountains shake. — SOMERVILLE. 



