In her retreat, amid the deepest shade,
Where the long grass is tender, and ne’er fails,
The red-deer hears, and starts, and lists again,
Till louder still the chase’s wild music sounds,
Then down the hill-side to the lake that spreads
Its broad unruffled bosom to the morn,
She takes her course; while on her haunches come
The bellowing pack, like gaunt and hungry wolves.
Now she has gained the stunted alder’s shade,
That line the margin of the waters clear,