Then, touch’d with pity and remorse,
He sorrow’d o’er the expiring horse.
“I little thought, when first thy rein
I slack’d upon the banks of Seine,[28]
That Highland eagle e’er should feed
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed!
Woe worth[29] the chase, woe worth the day,
That costs thy life, my gallant gray!”
X.
Then through the dell his horn resounds,