ROYAL ROCK BEAGLE HUNT. 



Huntsman ! her gait observe ; if in wide rings 

 She wheels her mazy way, in the same round 

 Persisting still, she'll foil the b'eaten track ; 

 But if she fly, and with the fav'ring wind 

 Urge her bold course, less intricate thy task ; 

 Push on thy pack. Like some poor exil'd wretch 

 The frighted chase leaves her late dear abodes, 

 O'er plains remote she stretches far away, 

 Ah ! never to return ! for greedy Death 

 Hov'ring exults, secure to seize his prey. 

 Hark ! from yon covert, where those tow'ring oaks 

 Above the humble copse aspiring rise. 

 What glorious triumphs burst on ev'ry gale 

 Upon our ravished ears ! The hunters shout. 

 The clanging horns swell their sweet winding notes. 

 The pack wide opening load the trembling air 

 With various melody, from tree to tree 

 The propagated cry redoubling bounds, 

 And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy 

 Through all the regions near. 



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Look how she pants ! and o'er yon opening glade 



Slips glancing by ; while at the further end 



The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile. 



Maze within maze ! The covert's utmost bound 



Slyly she skirts ; behind them cautious creeps. 



And in that very track, so lately stain'd 



By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue 



The foe she flies. Let cavillers den}' 



That brutes have reason ; sure 'tis something more 



'Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires 



Beyond the short extent of human thought. 



But hold ! — I see her from the covert break ; 



Look, on yon little eminence she sits ; 



Intent she listens with one ear erect. 



Pondering, and doubtful what new course to take, 



And how to 'scape the fierce blood-thirsty crew 



That still urge on, and still in voUies loud 



Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress. 



As now in louder peals the loaded winds 



Bring on the gath'ring storm, her fears prevail. 



And o'er the plain and o'er the mountain's ridge 



Away she flies ; nor ships, with wind and tide 



And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast. 



Huntsman ! take heed ; they stop in full career : 

 Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance graze. 

 Have haply foil'd the turf. See that old hound. 

 How busily he works, but dares not trust 

 His doubtful sense ! Draw yet a wider ring. 

 Hark ! now again the chorus fills. As bells, 

 Sally'd a while, at once their peal renew. 

 And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls. 



