THE IMPROVED ART OF FARRIERY. 423 



Each likely haunt. Hark ! on the drag I hear 

 Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry. 

 More nobly full and swelled with every mouth. 



" How musical their tongues ! Now, as they get 

 nearer to him, how the chorus fills ! Hark ! he is 

 found. Now where are all your sorrows, and your 

 cares, ye gloomy souls ? — or where your pains and 

 aches, ye complaining ones ? — one halloo has dispelled 

 them all ! What a crash they make ! and echo seem- 

 ingly takes pleasure to repeat the sound. The aston- 

 ished traveller forsakes his road, lured by its melody ; 

 the listening ploughman now stops his plough ; and 

 every distant shepherd neglects his flock, and runs to 

 see him break. What joy I — what eagerness in every 

 face ! 



How happy art thou, man, when thou'rt no more 

 Thyself ! when all the pangs that grind thy soul. 

 In rapture, and in sweet oblivion lost. 

 Yield a short interval and ease from pain ! 



*' Mark, how he runs the cover's utmost limits, yet 

 dares not venture forth ! the hounds are still too near. 

 That check is lucky ! now if our friends head him 

 not, he will soon be off. Hark ! they halloo — by Jove, 

 he's gone ! 



Hark ! what loud shouts 



Re-echo through the groves ! he breaks away. 

 Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound 

 Strains o'er the lawn to reach the distant pack. 

 'Tis triumph all, and joy ! 



Now huntsman get on with the head hounds ! the 

 whipper-in will bring on the others after you : keep 

 an attentive eye on the leading hounds, that should 

 the scent fail them, you may know at least how far 

 they brought it. 



