BOOK III THE CHASE v. 305-329.
The huntsman, now secure, with fatal aim
Directs the pointed spear, by which transfix’d,
He dies; and with him dies the rival shade.
Thus man innumerous engines forms, to assail
The savage kind; but most, the docile horse,
Swift, and confederate with man, annoys
His brethren of the plains; without whose aid
The hunter’s arts were vain, unskill’d to wage,
With the more active brutes, an equal war;
But borne by him, without the well-train’d pack,
Man dares his foe, on wings of wind secure.
Him the fierce Arab mounts, and, with his troop
Of bold compeers, ranges the desert wild,
Where, by the magnet’s aid, the traveller
Steers his untrodden course; yet oft, on land,
Is wreck’d, in the high-rolling waves of sand
Immersed, and lost; while these intrepid bands,
Safe in their horses’ speed, out-fly the storm,
And scouring round, make men and beasts their prey.
The grisly boar is singled from his herd,
As large as that in Erimanthian woods,
A match for Hercules: round him they fly,
In circles wide; and each, in passing, sends
His feather’d death into his brawny sides.
But perilous the attempt; for, if the steed
BOOK III THE CHASE v. 330-354.
Haply too near approach, or the loose earth
His footing fail, the watchful angry beast
The advantage spies, and, at one sidelong glance,
Rips up his groin. Wounded, he rears aloft,
And, plunging, from his back the rider hurls
Precipitant; then, bleeding, spurns the ground,
And drags his reeking entrails o’er the plain.
Meanwhile the surly monster trots along,
But with unequal speed; for still they wound,
Swift wheeling in the spacious ring: a wood
Of darts upon his back he bears; adown
His tortured sides the crimson torrents roll,
From many a gaping font; and now at last,
Staggering, he falls, in blood and foam expires.
But whither roves my devious Muse, intent
On antique tales, while yet the royal stag
Unsung remains? Tread, with respectful awe,
Windsor’s green glades, where Denham, tuneful bard,
Charm’d once the listening Dryads with his song,
Sublimely sweet. O grant me, sacred shade,
To glean, submiss, what thy full sickle leaves!
The morning sun, that gilds, with trembling rays,
Windsor’s high towers, beholds the courtly train
Mount for the chase; nor views in all his course
A scene so gay: heroick, noble youths,
BOOK III THE CHASE v. 355-379.
In arts and arms renown’d, and lovely nymphs,
The fairest of this isle, where beauty dwells,
Delighted, and deserts her Paphian grove,
For our more favour’d shades; in proud parade
These shine magnificent, and press around
The royal happy pair. Great in themselves,
They smile superiour; of external show
Regardless, while their inbred virtues give
A lustre to their power, and grace their court
With real splendours, far above the pomp
Of Eastern kings, in all their tinsel pride.
Like troops of Amazons, the female band
Prance round their cars; not in refulgent arms,
As those of old; unskill’d to wield the sword,
Or bend the bow, these kill with surer aim.
The royal offspring, fairest of the fair,
Lead on the splendid train. Anna, more bright
Than summer suns, or as the lightning keen,
With irresistible effulgence arm’d,
Fires every heart: he must be more than man
Who, unconcern’d, can bear the piercing ray.
Amelia, milder than the blushing dawn,
With sweet engaging air, but equal power,
Insensibly subdues, and in soft chains
Her willing captives leads. Illustrious maids!
BOOK III THE CHASE v. 380-404.
Ever triumphant! whose victorious charms,
Without the needless aid of high descent,
Had awed mankind, and taught the world’s great lords
To bow, and sue for grace. But who is he,
Fresh as a rose-bud newly blown, and fair
As opening lilies, on whom every eye
With joy and admiration dwells? See, see!
He reins his docile barb with manly grace.
Is it Adonis, for the chase array’d?
Or Britain’s second hope? Hail, blooming youth!
May all your virtues, with your years, improve,
Till, in consummate worth, you shine the pride
Of these our days, and, to succeeding times,
A bright example. As his guard of mutes
On the great sultan wait, with eyes deject,
And fix’d on earth, no voice, no sound, is heard
Within the wide serail, but all is hush’d,
And awful silence reigns; thus stand the pack,
Mute, and unmoved, and cowering low to earth,
While pass the glittering court, and royal pair:
So disciplined those hounds, and so reserved,
Whose honour ’tis to glad the hearts of kings:
But soon the winding horn, and huntsman’s voice,
Let loose the general chorus; far around
Joy spreads its wings, and the gay morning smiles.
BOOK III THE CHASE v. 405-429.
Unharbour’d now, the royal stag forsakes
His wonted lair; he shakes his dappled sides,
And tosses high his beamy head; the copse
Beneath his antlers bends. What doubling shifts
He tries! not more the wily hare: in these
Would still persist, did not the full-mouth’d pack,
With dreadful concert, thunder in his rear.
The woods reply, the hunter’s cheering shouts
Float through the glades, and the wide forest rings.
How merrily they chant! their nostrils deep
Inhale the grateful steam. Such is the cry,
And such the harmonious din, the soldier deems
The battle kindling, and the statesman grave
Forgets his weighty cares; each age, each sex,
In the wild transport joins; luxuriant joy,
And pleasure in excess, sparkling, exult
On every brow, and revel unrestrained.
How happy art thou, man! when thou’rt no more
Thyself; when all the pangs, that grind thy soul,
In rapture, and in sweet oblivion lost,
Yield a short interval, and ease from pain!
See, the swift courser strains, his shining hoofs
Securely beat the solid ground. Who now
The dangerous pitfall fears, with tangling heath
High-overgrown? or who the quivering bog,