185 



How oft on the moor to its musical note 



I've bounded away like a deer, 

 When far in the shade o£ some deep mountain glade 



Its tidings have thrilled on my ear. 



One note is enough ! and quickly the hounds 



O'er Dartmoor are racing away, 

 And for'rad they fling, like birds on the wing — 



'Tis a stout one before them to-day. 

 Then Echo enchanted unites with delight 



The lingering notes to prolong, 

 And, roused from their sleep in the cavernous deep, 



The Naiads are charmed with the song. 



Together we've traversed the mountain and mere, 



By many a desolate nook, 

 And, strolling along, have joined in the song 



Of many a babbling brook ; 

 Then wearied, mayhap, I've slumber'd awhile, 



Forgetting the world it would seem ; 

 Yet still on my ear I catch a sweet cheer — 



'Tis the sound of a horn in my dream. 



Other pleasures will pall, leave a poison behind, 



Or oft, like a mirage, betray ; 

 Other lips have a snare — oh ! I bid you beware, 



For I've suffered enough in my day — 

 But pure is that lip, and innocent, too, 



The pastime it ever promotes ; 

 And, grey as I'm grown^ I blush not to own 



That I've lavished my life on its notes. 



