BOOK I THE CHASE v. 14-38.
Invites thee to the chase, the sport of kings;
Image of war, without its guilt. The Muse
Aloft on wing shall soar, conduct with care
Thy foaming courser o’er the steepy rock,
Or, on the river bank, receive thee safe,
Light-bounding o’er the wave, from shore to shore.
Be thou our great protector, gracious youth!
And if, in future times, some envious prince,
Careless of right, and guileful, should invade
Thy Britain’s commerce, or should strive, in vain,
To wrest the balance from thy equal hand,
Thy hunter-train, in cheerful green array’d,
A band undaunted, and innured to toils,
Shall compass thee around, die at thy feet,
Or hew thy passage through the embattled foe,
And clear thy way to fame: inspired by thee,
The nobler chase of glory shall pursue,
Through fire, and smoke, and blood, and fields of death.
Nature, in her productions slow, aspires,
By just degrees, to reach perfection’s highth:
So mimick art works leisurely, till time
Improve the piece, or wise experience give
The proper finishing. When Nimrod bold,
That mighty hunter, first made war on beasts,
And stain’d the woodland green with purple dye,
BOOK I THE CHASE v. 39-63.
New, and unpolish’d, was the huntsman’s art;
No stated rule, his wanton will his guide.
With clubs and stones, rude implements of war,
He arm’d his savage bands, a multitude
Untrain’d: of twining osiers form’d, they pitch
Their artless toils, then range the desert hills,
And scour the plains below: the trembling herd
Start at the unusual sound, and clamorous shout,
Unheard before; surprised, alas! to find
Man now their foe, whom erst they deem’d their lord;
But mild, and gentle, and by whom, as yet,
Secure they grazed. Death stretches o’er the plain,
Wide-wasting, and grim slaughter, red with blood:
Urged on by hunger keen, they wound, they kill;
Their rage, licentious, knows no bound: at last,
Incumber’d with their spoils, joyful they bear,
Upon their shoulders broad, the bleeding prey.
Part on their altars smokes a sacrifice
To that all-gracious Power, whose bounteous hand
Supports his wide creation: what remains,
On living coals they broil, inelegant
Of taste, nor skill’d, as yet, in nicer arts
Of pamper’d luxury. Devotion pure,
And strong necessity, thus first began
The chase of beasts; though bloody was the deed,
BOOK I THE CHASE v. 64-88.
Yet without guilt: for the green herb, alone,
Unequal to sustain man’s labouring race,
Now every moving thing that lived on earth,
Was granted him for food. So just is Heaven,
To give us in proportion to our wants.
Or chance, or industry, in after-times,
Some few improvements made; but short, as yet,
Of due perfection. In this isle, remote,
Our painted ancestors were slow to learn,
To arms devote, of the politer arts
Nor skill’d, nor studious; till, from Neustria’s coasts,
Victorious William to more decent rules
Subdued our Saxon fathers, taught to speak
The proper dialect; with horn and voice
To cheer the busy hound, whose well-known cry
His listening peers approve with joint acclaim.
From him successive huntsmen learn’d to join,
In bloody social leagues, the multitude
Dispersed, to size, to sort their various tribes,
To rear, feed, hunt, and discipline the pack.
Hail, happy Britain! highly favour’d isle,
And Heaven’s peculiar care; to thee ’tis given
To train the sprightly steed, more fleet than those
Begot by winds, or the celestial breed
That bore the great Pelides through the press
BOOK I THE CHASE v. 89-113.
Of heroes arm’d, and broke their crowded ranks;
Which, proudly neighing, with the sun begins
Cheerful his course; and ere his beams decline,
Has measured half thy surface unfatigued.
In thee alone, fair land of liberty!
Is bred the perfect hound, in scent and speed
As yet unrivall’d; while in other climes
Their virtue fails, a weak degenerate race.
In vain malignant steams, and winter fogs,
Load the dull air, and hover round our coasts;
The huntsman, ever gay, robust, and bold,
Defies the noxious vapour, and confides
In this delightful exercise, to raise
His drooping head, and cheer his heart with joy.
Ye vigorous youths, by smiling fortune bless’d
With large demesnes, hereditary wealth,
Heap’d copious by your wise forefathers’ care,
Hear, and attend; while I the means reveal
To enjoy those pleasures, for the weak too strong,
Too costly for the poor: to rein the steed
Swift-stretching o’er the plain, to cheer the pack,
Opening in concerts of harmonious joy,
But breathing death. What though the gripe severe
Of brazen-fisted time, and slow disease
Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung,
BOOK I THE CHASE v. 114-138.
Afflict my shatter’d frame, undaunted still,
Fix’d as the mountain ash, that braves the bolts
Of angry Jove, though blasted, yet unfall’n;
Still can my soul, in fancy’s mirrour, view
Deeds glorious once, recall the joyous scene
In all its splendours deck’d, o’er the full bowl
Recount my triumphs pass’d, urge others on
With hand and voice, and point the winding way:
Pleased with that social sweet garrulity,
The poor disbanded veteran’s sole delight.
First, let the kennel be the huntsman’s care;
Upon some little eminence erect,
And fronting to the ruddy dawn; its courts
On either hand wide opening to receive
The sun’s all-cheering beams, when mild he shines,
And gilds the mountain tops. For much the pack
(Roused from their dark alcoves) delight to stretch
And bask in his invigorating ray:
Warn’d by the streaming light, and merry lark,
Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats
They carol loud, and, in grand chorus join’d,
Salute the new-born day. For not alone
The vegetable world, but men and brutes
Own his reviving influence, and joy
At his approach. Fountain of light! if chance