THE FOX FOUND. 165 



" See ! how they range 

 Dispersed, how biisilj this way and that 

 They cross, examining with curious nose 

 Each likely haunt. Hark ! on the drag I hear 

 Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry 

 More nobly full, and swell'd with every mouth." 



SOMERVILE. 



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 seemingly takes 



pleasure to repeat the sound. The astonished 



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 ! what 



eagerness in every face ! 



'' iiow 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 !" 



SOMERVILE. 



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 G — d, he's gone. 



