THE FIRST WILL SMITH. 77 



To sport and joy. For want of him to give 

 Thy deeds to fame, and bid thy jnerits live. 

 We tamely say : Here lies ('tis all we can) 

 A skilful huntsman and an honest man. 



Another. 

 Here Hoitt lies, last of the intrepid race 

 Whom Somerville led onward to the chase ; 

 Unsung, yet not unvalued, near these plains 

 His master loved, repose his last remains. 

 Mute lies for ever now the mellow horn 

 With which he early waked the infant dewy morn ; 

 And deaf his master's ear, which caught the sound 

 Floating on echo soft the hills around ; 

 And cold Boeter's heart, whose well-earned praise 

 Will live immortal in his master's lays. 

 Here, reader, pause, and let this artless stone 

 By Hoitt's end, remind thee of thine own ; 

 And let thy very sports tliy lesson be, 

 That death, which comes to all, must come to thee. 



Another. 

 Here Hoitt (all his sports and labours past) 

 Joins his lov'd master, Somerville, at last. 

 Together wont the echoing fields to try ; 

 Together now in silent dust they lie. 

 Servant and Lord, when once we yield our breath, 

 Huntsman and Poet are alike to death. 

 Life's motley drama calls for powers and men 

 Of different casts, to fill her changeful scene. 

 But all the merit, that we justly prize, 

 Not in the part, but in the acting lies. 

 And as the lyre, so may the huntsman's horn 

 Fame's trumpet rival, and his name adorn. 



Another. 

 Though small the praise to chase the timorous hare, 

 The care of hounds is not the meanest care. 

 A perfect knowledge of the huntsman's art 

 May useful hints to nobler ends impart. 

 By skilful discipline to train up youth 

 To hear obedient and to speak the truth. 

 Cautious and slow the doubtful way to wit, 

 Through error's maze, perplex'd by subtle wit. 

 But when the prize appears in open view. 

 To bear right onward and with speed pursue. 



