And through the shadowy oaks of giant size,
Thy bugle could the distant sylvans hear,
And wood-nymphs from their bowery bed would rise,
And echoes dancing round repeat their ecstasies.
Sir Egerton Brydges, 1762–1837.
SONNET.
There is exhilaration in the chase—
Not bodily only! Bursting from the woods,
Or having climb’d some misty mountain’s height,
When on our eyes a glorious prospect opes,