The new-shorn mead, and far more swift we fly. 

 See my brave pack ! how to the head they press, 

 Justling in close array ; then more diffuse 

 Obliquely wheel, while from their op'ning mouths 

 The vollied thunder breaks. So when the cranes 

 Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing 

 Their Figure oft they change, and their loud clang 

 From cloud to cloud rebounds. How far behind 

 The hunter-crew, wide straggling o'er the plain ! 



Here, huntsman, from this height 

 Observe yon birds of prey ; if I can judge, 

 'Tis there the villain lurks ; they hover round 

 And claim him as their own. Was I not right ? 

 See ! there he creeps along ; his brush he drags, 

 And sweeps the mire impure ; from his wide jaws 

 His tongue unmoisten'd hangs ; symptoms too sure 

 Of sudden death. Ha ! yet he flies, nor yields 

 To black despair. But one loose more, and all 

 His wiles are vain. Hark ! thro' yon village now 

 The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots, 

 And leafless elms return the joyous sounds. 

 Thro' ev'ry homestall, and thro' ev'ry yard, 

 II i^ midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies; 

 Thro' ev'ry hole he sneaks, thro' ev'ry jakes 

 Plunging he wades besmear'd, and fondly hopes 

 In a superior stench he lose his own : 

 But faithful to the track, th' unerring hounds 

 With peals of echoing vengeance close pursue. 



53 



