HUNTING DIRECTORY. 239 



the Pursuit of the Otter. 



Into the sheltering deeps ! Ah ! there he vents ! 



The pack plunge headlong, and protended spears 



Menace destruction : while the troubled surge 



Indignant foams, and all the scaly kind, 



Affrighted, hide their heads. Wild tumult reigns, 



And loud uproar. Ah ! there once more he vents ! 



See, that bold hound has seiz'd him ; down they sink 



Together lost : but soon shall he repent 



His rash assault. See ! there escap'd, he flies 



Half drown'd, and clambers up the slippery bank 



With ouze and blood distain'd. Of all the brutes. 



Whether by nature form'd, or by long use, 



This artful diver best can bear the want 



Of vital air. Unequal is the fight, 



Beneath the whelming element. Yet there 



He lives not long ; but respiration needs 



At proper intervals. Again he vents; 



Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierc'd 



His neck; the crimson waves confess the wound. 



Fix'd is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest, 



Where'er he flies; with him it sinks beneath, 



With him it mounts; sure guide to every foe. 



Inly he groans ; nor can his tender wound 



Bear the cold stream. Lo ! to yon sedgy bank 



He creeps disconsolate ; his numerous foes 



Surround him, hounds and men. Pierc'd thro' and thro', 



On pointed spears they lift him high in air: 



Wriggling he hangs and grins, and bites in vain : 



Bid the loud horns, in gaily warbling strains. 



Proclaim the felon's fate— he dies ! he dies ! '* 



