With mouths of bell-like music, now that bound,

Uncoupled, forward; for, behold! the hart,

A ten-tined buck, doth from the covert dart.

And the big stag-hounds swing into the chase,

The wild horns sing. The pryce seems but a pace

On ere 'tis wound. But, see! where interlace

The dense-briared thickets, now the hounds have lost

The slot, there where their woodland way is crossed

By intercepting waters full of leaves.

Beyond, the hart a tangled labyrinth weaves