Now is the thrilling moment near, 

 Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear, 

 Yon thicket holds the harbour'd deer, 



The signs the hunters know ; — 

 With eyes of flame, and quivering ears, 

 The brake sagacious Keeldar nears ; 

 The restless palfrey paws and rears ; 



The archer strings his bow. 



The game's afoot ! — Halloo ! Halloo ! 

 Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue : — 

 But woe the shaft that erring flew — 



That e'er it left the string ! 

 And ill betide the faithless yew ! 

 The stag bounds scathless o'er the dew, 

 And gallant Kccldar's life-blood true 



Has drench'd the grey-goose wing. 



The noble hound — he dies, he dies, 

 Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes, 

 Stiff on the bloody heath he lies, 



Without a groan or quiver. 

 Now day may break and bugle sound, 

 And whoop and halloo ring around, 

 And o'er his couch the stag may bound, 



But Keeldar sleeps for ever. 



Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, 

 Mark the poor palfrey's mute surprise, 



128 



