When his life to the fangs of his deadly foe yields.
Tally-ho! tally-ho! two fine bucks are now seen,
One has taken the water, the other the green.
In pursuit they divide—in a dish such a pair
Would for even a monarch be delicate fare.
Through the stream, o'er the glade, up the hill's rugged side,
Down the vale, o'er the plain, like Niagara's tide,
On, resistless, they roll; till their furious speed
Has o'ertaken their victims; and now they must bleed.
Like the torrent they fell, and quite spent on the ground,