The Life of William Somerville
There is a chapter in an old history of Iceland which has often moved merriment. The title of it is, “Concerning Snakes in Iceland,” and the contents are, “Snakes in Iceland there are none.” We suspect, when our “Life of William Somerville” is ended, not a few will find in it a parallel for that comprehensive chapter, although we strenuously maintain that the fault of an insipid and uninteresting life is not always to be charged on the biographer.
In “Sartor Resartus” our readers remember an epitaph, somewhat coarse, although disguised in good dog-Latin, upon a country squire, and his sayings and doings in this world. We have not a copy of that work at hand, and cannot quote the epitaph, nor would we, though we could, since even the dog-Latin is too plain and perspicuous for many readers. We recommend those, however, who choose to turn it up; and they will find in it (with the exception of the writing of “the Chase”) the full history of William Somerville, of whom we know little, but that he was born, that he hunted, ate, drank, and died.
He was born in 1682; but in what month, or on what day, we are not informed. His estate was in Warwickshire, its name Edston, and he had inherited it from a long line of ancestors. His family prided itself upon being the first family in the county. He himself boasts of having been born on the banks of Avon, which has thus at least produced two poets, of somewhat different calibre indeed—the one a deer-stealer, and the other a fox-hunter—Shakspeare and Somerville. Somerville was educated at Winchester School, and was afterwards elected fellow of New College. From his studies—of his success in which we know nothing—he returned to his native county, and there, says Johnson, “was distinguished as a poet, a gentleman, and a skilful and useful justice of the peace;”—we may add, as a jovial companion and a daring fox-hunter. His estate brought him in about £1500 a-year, but his extravagance brought him into pecuniary distresses, which weighed upon his mind, plunged him into intemperate habits, and hurried him away in his 60th year. Shenstone, who knew him well, thus mourns aver his departure in one of his letters:—“Our old friend Somerville is dead; I did not imagine I could have been so sorry as I find myself on this occasion. Sublatum quoerimus, I can now excuse all his foibles; impute them to age and to distressed circumstances. The last of these considerations wrings my very soul to think on; for a man of high spirit, conscious of having (at least in one production) generally pleased the world, to be plagued and threatened by wretches that are low in every sense; to be forced to drink himself into pains of the body in order to get rid of the pains of the mind, is a misery.”
Somerville died July 19, 1742, and was buried at Wotton, near Henley-on-Arden. His estate went to Lord Somerville in Scotland, but his mother, who lived to a great age, had a jointure of £600. He describes himself, in verses addressed to Allan Ramsay, as
“A squire, well-born and six feet high.”
He seems, from the affection and sympathy discovered for him by Shenstone, to have possessed the virtues as well as the vices of the squirearchy of that age; their frankness, sociality, and heart, as well as their improvidence and tendency to excess; and may altogether be called a sublimated Squire Western.
As to his poetry, much of it is beneath criticism. His “Fables,” “Tales,” “Hobbinol, or Rural Games,” &c., have all in them poetical lines, but cannot, as a whole, be called poetry. He wrote some verses, entitled “Address to Addison,” on the latter purchasing an estate in Warwickshire (he gave his Countess £4000 in exchange for it). In this there are two lines which Dr Johnson highly commends, saying “They are written with the most exquisite delicacy of praise; they exhibit one of those happy strokes that are seldom attained.”—Here is this bepraised couplet:—
“When panting virtue her last efforts made,
You brought your Clio to the virgin’s aid.”
Clio, of course, refers to Addison’s signatures in the “Spectator,” consisting of the four letters composing the name of the Muse of History, used in alternation. We cannot coincide in Johnson’s encomium. The allusion is, we think, at once indecent and obscure; and what, after all, does it say, but that Addison’s papers aided the struggling cause of virtue?
In the same verses we find a fulsome and ridiculous preference of Addison to Shakspeare!
“In heaven he sings, on earth your Muse supplies
The important loss, and heals our weeping eyes;
Correctly great, she melts each flinty heart,
With EQUAL GENIUS, but SUPERIOR ART.”
Surely the force of falsehood and flattery can go no further.
It is a pleasure to turn from these small and shallow things to the “Chase,” which, if not a great poem, is founded on a most poetical subject, and which, here and there, sparkles into fine fancy. Dr Johnson truly remarks, that Somerville “set a good example to men of his own class, by devoting a part of his time to elegant knowledge, and has shewn, by the subjects which his poetry has adorned, that it is practicable to be at once a skilful sportsman and a man of letters.” But besides this purpose to be the poet—and hitherto he has been almost the sole poet of the squirearchy, as considered apart from the aristocracy—Somerville has the merit of being inspired by a genuine love for the subject. He writes directly from the testimony of his own eyes, and the impulses of his own heart. He has obviously had the mould of his poem suggested by Thomson’s “Seasons,” but it is the mould only; the thoughts and feelings which are poured into it are his own. He loves the giddy ride over stock and stone, hedge and petty precipice; the invigoration which the keen breath of autumn or winter, like that of a sturdy veteran, gives the animal spirits; the animated aspect of the “assembled jockeyship of half a province;” the wild music of hounds, and horns, and hollas, vieing with each other in mirth and loudness; the breathless interest of the start; the emulous pant of the coursers; the excitement of the moment when the fox appears; the sweeping tumult of the pursuit; the dreamlike rapidity with which five-barred gates are cleared, the yellow or naked woods are passed, and the stubble-ridges “swallowed up in the fierceness and rage” of the rushing steeds; the indifference of those engaged in the headlong sport to the danger or even the death of their companions; the lengthening and deepening howl of the hounds as they near their prey; the fierce silence of the dying victim; and the fiercer shout of victory which announces to the echoes that the brush is won, and the glorious (or inglorious) day’s work is over;—all this Somerville loves, and has painted with considerable power. In the course of the poem, he sings also of the mysteries of the dog-kennel—pursues the blood-hound on his track of death—describes a stag-hunt in Windsor Forest—paints the fearful phenomena of canine madness—hunts the hare in a joyous spirit—and goes down after the otter into its watery recesses, and watches its divings and devious motions as with the eyes of a sea-eagle. And, besides, (here also imitating Thomson,) he is led away from the comparatively tame “Chase” of England to the more dangerous and more inspiring sports of other lands, where “the huntsmen are up in Arabia,” in pursuit of the wolf, where the bear is bayed amidst forests dark as itself, where the leopard is snared by its own image in a mirror, where the lion falls roaring into the prepared pit, and where the “Chase” is pursued on a large scale by assembled princes amidst the jungles of India.
We doubt not, however, that, were a genuine poet of this age taking up the “Chase” as a subject for song, and availing himself of the accounts of recent travellers, themselves often true poets, such as Lloyd, Livingstone, Cumming Bruce, and Charles Boner, (see the admirable “Chamois Hunting in Bavaria” of the latter,) he would produce a strain incomparably higher than Somerville’s. Wilson, at least, as we know from his “Christopher in his Sporting Jacket,” and many other articles in Maga, was qualified, in part by nature and in part by extensive experience, to have written such a poem. Indeed, one sentence of his is superior to anything in the “Chase.” Speaking of the charge of the cruelty of chasing such an insignificant animal as a fox, he says, “What though it be but a smallish, reddish-brown, sharp-nosed animal, with pricked-up ears, and passionately fond of poultry, that they pursue? After the first tallyho, reynard is rarely seen till he is run in upon—once, perhaps, in the whole run, skirting a wood, or crossing a common. It is an idea that is pursued on a whirlwind of horses, to a storm of canine music, worthy both of the largest lion that ever leaped among a band of Moors sleeping at midnight by an extinguished fire on the African sands.” We do not answer for the humanity of this description, but it certainly seems to us to exhaust the subject of the chase, alike in its philosophy and its poetry.[1]
Somerville’s Chase
Book I
The Argument
The subject proposed.—Address to his Royal Highness the Prince.—The origin of hunting.—The rude and unpolished manner of the first hunters.—Beasts at first hunted for food and sacrifice.—The grant made by God to man of the beasts, &c.—The regular manner of hunting first brought into this island by the Normans.—The best hounds and best horses bred here.—The advantage of this exercise to us, as islanders.—Address to gentlemen of estates.—Situation of the kennel and its several courts.—The diversion and employment of hounds in the kennel.—The different sorts of hounds for each different chase.— Description of a perfect hound.—Of sizing and sorting of hounds.—The middle-sized hound recommended.—Of the large, deep-mouthed hound for hunting the stag and otter.—Of the lime-hound; their use on the borders of England and Scotland.—A physical account of scents.—Of good and bad scenting days.—A short admonition to my brethren of the couples.
The Chase I sing, hounds, and their various breed,
And no less various use. O thou Great Prince![2]
Whom Cambria’s towering hills proclaim their lord,
Deign thou to hear my bold, instructive song.
While grateful citizens with pompous show,
Rear the triumphal arch, rich with the exploits
Of thy illustrious house; while virgins pave
Thy way with flowers, and, as the royal youth
Passing they view, admire, and sigh in vain;
While crowded theatres, too fondly proud
_10
Of their exotic minstrels, and shrill pipes,
The price of manhood, hail thee with a song,
And airs soft-warbling; my hoarse-sounding horn
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!
_20
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 arrayed,
(A band undaunted, and inured 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
_30
Through fire, and smoke, and blood, and fields of death.
Nature, in her productions slow, aspires
By just degrees to reach perfection’s height:
So mimic 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 stained the woodland green with purple dye,
New and unpolished was the huntsman’s art;
No stated rule, his wanton will his guide.
_40
With clubs and stones, rude implements of war,
He armed his savage bands, a multitude
Untrained; of twining osiers formed, 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 deemed their lord,
But mild and gentle, and by whom as yet
Secure they grazed. Death stretches o’er the plain
_50
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
Incumbered 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 skilled as yet in nicer arts
_60
Of pampered luxury. Devotion pure,
And strong necessity, thus first began
The chase of beasts: though bloody was the deed,
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
_70
Of due perfection. In this isle remote
Our painted ancestors were slow to learn,
To arms devote, of the politer arts
Nor skilled nor studious; till from Neustria’s[3] 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 learned to join
_80
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-favoured 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
Of heroes armed, and broke their crowded ranks;
Which proudly neighing, with the sun begins
_90
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 unrivalled, 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
_100
In this delightful exercise, to raise
His drooping head and cheer his heart with joy.
Ye vigorous youths, by smiling Fortune blest
With large demesnes, hereditary wealth,
Heaped 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,
_110
But breathing death. What though the gripe severe
Of brazen-fisted Time, and slow disease
Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung,
Afflict my shattered frame, undaunted still,
Fixed as a mountain ash, that braves the bolts
Of angry Jove; though blasted, yet unfallen;
Still can my soul in Fancy’s mirror view
Deeds glorious once, recal the joyous scene
In all its splendours decked, o’er the full bowl
Recount my triumphs past, urge others on
_120
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,
_130
And bask in his invigorating ray:
Warned by the streaming light and merry lark,
Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats
They carol loud, and in grand chorus joined
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[4]
Some envious cloud veil thy refulgent brow,
In vain the Muses aid; untouched, unstrung,
_140
Lies my mute harp, and thy desponding bard
Sits darkly musing o’er the unfinished lay.
Let no Corinthian pillars prop the dome,
A vain expense, on charitable deeds
Better disposed, to clothe the tattered wretch,
Who shrinks beneath the blast, to feed the poor
Pinched with afflictive want. For use, not state,
Gracefully plain, let each apartment rise.
O’er all let cleanliness preside, no scraps
Bestrew the pavement, and no half-picked bones,
_150
To kindle fierce debate, or to disgust
That nicer sense, on which the sportsman’s hope,
And all his future triumphs must depend.
Soon as the growling pack with eager joy
Have lapped their smoking viands, morn or eve,
From the full cistern lead the ductile streams,
To wash thy court well-paved, nor spare thy pains,
For much to health will cleanliness avail.
Seek’st thou for hounds to climb the rocky steep,
And brush the entangled covert, whose nice scent
_160
O’er greasy fallows, and frequented roads
Can pick the dubious way? Banish far off
Each noisome stench, let no offensive smell
Invade thy wide inclosure, but admit
The nitrous air, and purifying breeze.
Water and shade no less demand thy care:
In a large square the adjacent field inclose,
There plant in equal ranks the spreading elm,
Or fragrant lime; most happy thy design,
If at the bottom of thy spacious court,
_170
A large canal fed by the crystal brook,
From its transparent bosom shall reflect
Downward thy structure and inverted grove.
Here when the sun’s too potent gleams annoy
The crowded kennel, and the drooping pack,
Restless and faint, loll their unmoistened tongues,
And drop their feeble tails; to cooler shades
Lead forth the panting tribe; soon shalt thou find
The cordial breeze their fainting hearts revive:
Tumultuous soon they plunge into the stream,
_180
There lave their reeking sides, with greedy joy
Gulp down the flying wave; this way and that
From shore to shore they swim, while clamour loud
And wild uproar torments the troubled flood:
Then on the sunny bank they roll and stretch
Their dripping limbs, or else in wanton rings
Coursing around, pursuing and pursued,
The merry multitude disporting play.
But here with watchful and observant eye
Attend their frolics, which too often end
_190
In bloody broils and death. High o’er thy head
Wave thy resounding whip, and with a voice
Fierce-menacing o’errule the stern debate,
And quench their kindling rage; for oft in sport
Begun, combat ensues, growling they snarl,
Then on their haunches reared, rampant they seize
Each other’s throats, with teeth and claws in gore
Besmeared, they wound, they tear, till on the ground,
Panting, half dead the conquered champion lies:
Then sudden all the base ignoble crowd
_200
Loud-clamouring seize the helpless worried wretch,
And thirsting for his blood, drag different ways
His mangled carcase on the ensanguined plain.
O breasts of pity void! to oppress the weak,
To point your vengeance at the friendless head,
And with one mutual cry insult the fallen!
Emblem too just of man’s degenerate race.
Others apart by native instinct led,
Knowing instructor! ‘mong the ranker grass
Cull each salubrious plant, with bitter juice
_210
Concoctive stored, and potent to allay
Each vicious ferment. Thus the hand divine
Of Providence, beneficent and kind
To all His creatures, for the brutes prescribes
A ready remedy, and is Himself
Their great physician. Now grown stiff with age,
And many a painful chase, the wise old hound
Regardless of the frolic pack, attends
His master’s side, or slumbers at his ease
Beneath the bending shade; there many a ring
_220
Runs o’er in dreams; now on the doubtful foil
Puzzles perplexed, or doubles intricate
Cautious unfolds, then winged with all his speed,
Bounds o’er the lawn to seize his panting prey:
And in imperfect whimperings speaks his joy.
A different hound for every different chase
Select with judgment; nor the timorous hare
O’ermatched destroy, but leave that vile offence
To the mean, murderous, coursing crew; intent
On blood and spoil. O blast their hopes, just Heaven!
_230
And all their painful drudgeries repay
With disappointment and severe remorse.
But husband thou thy pleasures, and give scope
To all her subtle play: by nature led
A thousand shifts she tries; to unravel these
The industrious beagle twists his waving tail,
Through all her labyrinths pursues, and rings
Her doleful knell. See there with countenance blithe,
And with a courtly grin, the fawning hound
Salutes thee cowering, his wide-opening nose
_240
Upward he curls, and his large sloe-black eyes
Melt in soft blandishments, and humble joy;
His glossy skin, or yellow-pied, or blue,
In lights or shades by Nature’s pencil drawn,
Reflects the various tints; his ears and legs
Flecked here and there, in gay enamelled pride
Rival the speckled pard; his rush-grown tail
O’er his broad back bends in an ample arch;
On shoulders clean, upright and firm he stands,
His round cat foot, straight hams, and wide-spread thighs,
_250
And his low-dropping chest, confess his speed,
His strength, his wind, or on the steepy hill,
Or far-extended plain; in every part
So well proportioned, that the nicer skill
Of Phidias himself can’t blame thy choice.
Of such compose thy pack. But here a mean
Observe, nor the large hound prefer, of size
Gigantic; he in the thick-woven covert
Painfully tugs, or in the thorny brake
Torn and embarrassed bleeds: but if too small,
_260
The pigmy brood in every furrow swims;
Moiled in the clogging clay, panting they lag
Behind inglorious; or else shivering creep
Benumbed and faint beneath the sheltering thorn.
For hounds of middle size, active and strong,
Will better answer all thy various ends,
And crown thy pleasing labours with success.
As some brave captain, curious and exact,
By his fixed standard forms in equal ranks
His gay battalion, as one man they move
_270
Step after step, their size the same, their arms
Far gleaming, dart the same united blaze:
Reviewing generals his merit own;
How regular! how just! and all his cares
Are well repaid, if mighty George approve.
So model thou thy pack, if honour touch
Thy generous soul, and the world’s just applause.
But above all take heed, nor mix thy hounds
Of different kinds; discordant sounds shall grate
Thy ears offended, and a lagging line
_280
Of babbling curs disgrace thy broken pack.
But if the amphibious otter be thy chase,
Or stately stag, that o’er the woodland reigns;
Or if the harmonious thunder of the field
Delight thy ravished ears; the deep-flewed hound
Breed up with care, strong, heavy, slow, but sure,
Whose ears down-hanging from his thick round head
Shall sweep the morning dew, whose clanging voice
Awake the mountain echo in her cell,
And shake the forests: the bold talbot[6] kind
_290
Of these the prime, as white as Alpine snows;
And great their use of old. Upon the banks
Of Tweed, slow winding through the vale, the seat
Of war and rapine once, ere Britons knew
The sweets of peace, or Anna’s dread commands
To lasting leagues the haughty rivals awed,
There dwelt a pilfering race; well-trained and skilled
In all the mysteries of theft, the spoil
Their only substance, feuds and war their sport:
Not more expert in every fraudful art
_300
The arch felon was of old, who by the tail
Drew back his lowing prize: in vain his wiles,
In vain the shelter of the covering rock,
In vain the sooty cloud, and ruddy flames
That issued from his mouth; for soon he paid
His forfeit life: a debt how justly due
To wronged Alcides, and avenging Heaven!
Veiled in the shades of night they ford the stream,
Then prowling far and near, whate’er they seize
Becomes their prey; nor flocks nor herds are safe,
_310
Nor stalls protect the steer, nor strong barred doors
Secure the favourite horse. Soon as the morn
Reveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan
The plundered owner stands, and from his lips
A thousand thronging curses burst their way:
He calls his stout allies, and in a line
His faithful hound he leads, then with a voice
That utters loud his rage, attentive cheers:
Soon the sagacious brute, his curling tail
Flourished in air, low-bending plies around
_320
His busy nose, the steaming vapour snuff
Inquisitive, nor leaves one turf untried,
Till conscious of the recent stains, his heart
Beats quick; his snuffling nose, his active tail
Attest his joy; then with deep opening mouth
That makes the welkin tremble, he proclaims
The audacious felon; foot by foot he marks
His winding way, while all the listening crowd
Applaud his reasonings. O’er the watery ford,
Dry sandy heaths, and stony barren hill,
_330
O’er beaten paths, with men and beasts distained,
Unerring he pursues; till at the cot
Arrived, and seizing by his guilty throat
The caitiff’ vile, redeems the captive prey:
So exquisitely delicate his sense!
Should some more curious sportsman here inquire,
Whence this sagacity, this wondrous power
Of tracing step by step, or man or brute?
What guide invisible points out their way,
O’er the dank marsh, bleak hill, and sandy plain?
_340
The courteous Muse shall the dark cause reveal.
The blood that from the heart incessant rolls
In many a crimson tide, then here and there
In smaller rills disparted, as it flows
Propelled, the serous particles evade
Through the open pores, and with the ambient air
Entangling mix. As fuming vapours rise,
And hang upon the gently purling brook,
There by the incumbent atmosphere compressed,
The panting chase grows warmer as he flies,
_350
And through the net-work of the skin perspires;
Leaves a long-streaming trail behind, which by
The cooler air condensed, remains, unless
By some rude storm dispersed, or rarefied
By the meridian sun’s intenser heat.
To every shrub the warm effluvia cling,
Hang on the grass, impregnate earth and skies.
With nostrils opening wide, o’er hill, o’er dale,
The vigorous hounds pursue, with every breath
Inhale the grateful steam, quick pleasures sting
_360
Their tingling nerves, while they their thanks repay,
And in triumphant melody confess
The titillating joy. Thus on the air
Depend the hunter’s hopes. When ruddy streaks
At eve forebode a blustering stormy day,
Or lowering clouds blacken the mountain’s brow,
When nipping frosts, and the keen biting blasts
Of the dry parching east, menace the trees
With tender blossoms teeming, kindly spare
Thy sleeping pack, in their warm beds of straw
_370
Low-sinking at their ease; listless they shrink
Into some dark recess, nor hear thy voice
Though oft invoked; or haply if thy call
Rouse up the slumbering tribe, with heavy eyes
Glazed, lifeless, dull, downward they drop their tails
Inverted; high on their bent backs erect
Their pointed bristles stare, or ‘mong the tufts
Of ranker weeds, each stomach-healing plant
Curious they crop, sick, spiritless, forlorn.
These inauspicious days, on other cares
_380
Employ thy precious hours; the improving friend
With open arms embrace, and from his lips
Glean science, seasoned with good-natured wit.
But if the inclement skies and angry Jove
Forbid the pleasing intercourse, thy books
Invite thy ready hand, each sacred page
Rich with the wise remarks of heroes old.
Converse familiar with the illustrious dead;
With great examples of old Greece or Rome
Enlarge thy free-born heart, and bless kind Heaven,
_390
That Britain yet enjoys dear Liberty,
That balm of life, that sweetest blessing, cheap
Though purchased with our blood. Well-bred, polite,
Credit thy calling. See! how mean, how low,
The bookless sauntering youth, proud of the scut
That dignifies his cap, his flourished belt,
And rusty couples jingling by his side.
Be thou of other mould; and know that such
Transporting pleasures were by Heaven ordained
Wisdom’s relief, and Virtue’s great reward.
_400
Book II
The Argument
Of the power of instinct in brutes.—Two remarkable instances in the hunting of the roebuck, and in the hare going to seat in the morning.—Of the variety of seats or forms of the hare, according to the change of the season, weather, or wind.—Description of the hare-hunting in all its parts, interspersed with rules to be observed by those who follow that chase.—Transition to the Asiatic way of hunting, particularly the magnificent manner of the Great Mogul, and other Tartarian princes, taken from Monsieur Bernier, and the history of Gengiskan the Great.—Concludes with a short reproof of tyrants and oppressors of mankind.
Nor will it less delight the attentive sage
To observe that instinct, which unerring guides
The brutal race, which mimics reason’s lore
And oft transcends: heaven-taught, the roe-buck swift
Loiters at ease before the driving pack
And mocks their vain pursuit, nor far he flies
But checks his ardour, till the steaming scent
That freshens on the blade, provokes their rage.
Urged to their speed, his weak deluded foes
Soon flag fatigued; strained to excess each nerve,
_10
Each slackened sinew fails; they pant, they foam;
Then o’er the lawn he bounds, o’er the high hills
Stretches secure, and leaves the scattered crowd
To puzzle in the distant vale below.
’Tis instinct that directs the jealous hare
To choose her soft abode: with step reversed
She forms the doubling maze; then, ere the morn
Peeps through the clouds, leaps to her close recess.
As wand’ring shepherds on the Arabian plains
No settled residence observe, but shift
_20
Their moving camp, now, on some cooler hill
With cedars crowned, court the refreshing breeze;
And then, below, where trickling streams distil
From some penurious source, their thirst allay,
And feed their fainting flocks: so the wise hares
Oft quit their seats, lest some more curious eye
Should mark their haunts, and by dark treacherous wiles
Plot their destruction; or perchance in hopes
Of plenteous forage, near the ranker mead,
Or matted blade, wary, and close they sit.
_30
When spring shines forth, season of love and joy,
In the moist marsh, ‘mong beds of rushes hid,
They cool their boiling blood: when Summer suns
Bake the cleft earth, to thick wide-waving fields
Of corn full-grown, they lead their helpless young:
But when autumnal torrents, and fierce rains
Deluge the vale, in the dry crumbling bank
Their forms they delve, and cautiously avoid
The dripping covert: yet when Winter’s cold
Their limbs benumbs, thither with speed returned
_40
In the long grass they skulk, or shrinking creep
Among the withered leaves, thus changing still,
As fancy prompts them, or as food invites.
But every season carefully observed,
The inconstant winds, the fickle element,
The wise experienced huntsman soon may find
His subtle, various game, nor waste in vain
His tedious hours, till his impatient hounds
With disappointment vexed, each springing lark
Babbling pursue, far scattered o’er the fields.
_50
Now golden Autumn from her open lap
Her fragrant bounties showers; the fields are shorn;
Inwardly smiling, the proud farmer views
The rising pyramids that grace his yard,
And counts his large increase; his barns are stored,
And groaning staddles bend beneath their load.
All now is free as air, and the gay pack
In the rough bristly stubbles range unblamed;
No widow’s tears o’erflow, no secret curse
Swells in the farmer’s breast, which his pale lips
_60
Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord awed:
But courteous now he levels every fence,
Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud,
Charmed with the rattling thunder of the field.
Oh bear me, some kind Power invisible!
To that extended lawn, where the gay court
View the swift racers, stretching to the goal;
Games more renowned, and a far nobler train,
Than proud Elean fields could boast of old.
Oh! were a Theban lyre not wanting here,
_70
And Pindar’s voice, to do their merit right!
Or to those spacious plains, where the strained eye
In the wide prospect lost, beholds at last
Sarum’s proud spire, that o’er the hills ascends,
And pierces through the clouds. Or to thy downs,
Fair Cotswold, where the well-breathed beagle climbs,
With matchless speed, thy green aspiring brow,
And leaves the lagging multitude behind.
Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail!
Rejoiced I see thy purple mantle spread
_80
O’er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way,
And orient pearls from every shrub depend.
Farewell, Cleora; here deep sunk in down
Slumber secure, with happy dreams amused,
Till grateful steams shall tempt thee to receive
Thy early meal, or thy officious maids,
The toilet placed, shall urge thee to perform
The important work. Me other joys invite,
The horn sonorous calls, the pack awaked
Their matins chant, nor brook my long delay.
_90
My courser hears their voice; see there with ears
And tail erect, neighing he paws the ground;
Fierce rapture kindles in his reddening eyes,
And boils in every vein. As captive boys
Cowed by the ruling rod, and haughty frowns
Of pedagogues severe, from their hard tasks,
If once dismissed, no limits can contain
The tumult raised within their little breasts,
But give a loose to all their frolic play:
So from their kennel rush the joyous pack;
_100
A thousand wanton gaieties express
Their inward ecstasy, their pleasing sport
Once more indulged, and liberty restored.
The rising sun that o’er the horizon peeps,
As many colours from their glossy skins
Beaming reflects, as paint the various bow
When April showers descend. Delightful scene!
Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs,
And in each smiling countenance appears
Fresh-blooming health, and universal joy.
_110
Huntsman, lead on! behind the clustering pack
Submiss attend, hear with respect thy whip
Loud-clanging, and thy harsher voice obey:
Spare not the straggling cur, that wildly roves;
But let thy brisk assistant on his back
Imprint thy just resentments; let each lash
Bite to the quick, till howling he return
And whining creep amid the trembling crowd.
Here on this verdant spot, where nature kind,
With double blessings crowns the farmer’s hopes;
_120
Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead
Affords the wandering hares a rich repast,
Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they spread
And range around, and dash the glittering dew.
If some stanch hound, with his authentic voice,
Avow the recent trail, the jostling tribe
Attend his call, then with one mutual cry
The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills
Repeat the pleasing tale. See how they thread
The brakes, and up yon furrow drive along!
_130
But quick they back recoil, and wisely check
Their eager haste; then o’er the fallowed ground
How leisurely they work, and many a pause
The harmonious concert breaks; till more assured
With joy redoubled the low valleys ring.
What artful labyrinths perplex their way!
Ah! there she lies; how close! she pants, she doubts
If now she lives; she trembles as she sits,
With horror seized. The withered grass that clings
Around her head, of the same russet hue
_140
Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes
With life full-beaming her vain wiles betrayed.
At distance draw thy pack, let all be hushed,
No clamour loud, no frantic joy be heard,
Lest the wild hound run gadding o’er the plain
Untractable, nor hear thy chiding voice.
Now gently put her off; see how direct
To her known mews she flies! Here, huntsman, bring
(But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds,
And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop,
_150
And seem to plough the ground! then all at once
With greedy nostrils snuff the fuming steam
That glads their fluttering hearts. As winds let loose
From the dark caverns of the blustering god,
They burst away, and sweep the dewy lawn.
Hope gives them wings while she’s spurred on by fear.
The welkin rings; men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods
In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths,
Stripped for the chase, give all your souls to joy!
See how their coursers, than the mountain roe
_160
More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick clouds
Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print
The grass unbruised; with emulation fired
They strain to lead the field, top the barred gate,
O’er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush
The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend
O’er their arched necks; with steady hands, by turns
Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage.
Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs,
Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone,
_170
And with the panting winds lag far behind.
Huntsman! her gait observe, if in wide rings
She wheel her mazy way, in the same round
Persisting still, she’ll foil the beaten track.
But if she fly, and with the favouring wind
Urge her bold course; less intricate thy task:
Push on thy pack. Like some poor exiled wretch
The frighted chase leaves her late dear abodes,
O’er plains remote she stretches far away,
Ah! never to return! for greedy Death
_180
Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey.
Hark! from yon covert, where those towering oaks
Above the humble copse aspiring rise,
What glorious triumphs burst in every gale
Upon our ravished ears! The hunters shout,
The clanging horns swell their sweet-winding notes,
The pack wide-opening load the trembling air
With various melody; from tree to tree
The propagated cry redoubling bounds,
And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy
_190
Through all the regions near: afflictive birch
No more the school-boy dreads, his prison broke,
Scampering he flies, nor heeds his master’s call;
The weary traveller forgets his road,
And climbs the adjacent hill; the ploughman leaves
The unfinished furrow; nor his bleating flocks
Are now the shepherd’s joy; men, boys, and girls
Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds
Spread o’er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seized.
Look, how she pants! and o’er yon opening glade
_200
Slips glancing by; while, at the further end,
The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile,
Maze within maze. The covert’s utmost bound
Slily she skirts; behind them cautious creeps,
And in that very track, so lately stained
By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue
The foe she flies. Let cavillers deny
That brutes have reason; sure ’tis something more,
’Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires,
Beyond the short extent of human thought.
_210
But hold—I see her from the covert break;
Sad on yon little eminence she sits;
Intent she listens with one ear erect,
Pond’ring, and doubtful what new course to take,
And how to escape the fierce blood-thirsty crew,
That still urge on, and still in vollies loud,
Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress.
As now in louder peals, the loaded winds
Bring on the gathering storm, her fears prevail;
And o’er the plain, and o’er the mountain’s ridge,
_220
Away she flies; nor ships with wind and tide,
And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast.
Once more, ye jovial train, your courage try,
And each clean courser’s speed. We scour along,
In pleasing hurry and confusion tossed;
Oblivion to be wished. The patient pack
Hang on the scent unwearied, up they climb,
And ardent we pursue; our labouring steeds
We press, we gore; till once the summit gained,
Painfully panting, there we breathe a while;
_230
Then like a foaming torrent, pouring down
Precipitant, we smoke along the vale.
Happy the man, who with unrivalled speed
Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view
The struggling pack; how in the rapid course
Alternate they preside, and jostling push
To guide the dubious scent; how giddy youth
Oft babbling errs, by wiser age reproved;
How, niggard of his strength, the wise old hound
Hangs in the rear, till some important point
_240
Rouse all his diligence, or till the chase
Sinking he finds; then to the head he springs,
With thirst of glory fired, and wins the prize.
Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career.
Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance graze,
Have haply soiled the turf. See! that old hound,
How busily he works, but dares not trust
His doubtful sense; draw yet a wider ring.
Hark! now again the chorus fills; as bells
Silenced a while at once their peal renew,
_250
And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls.
See, how they toss, with animated rage
Recovering all they lost!—That eager haste
Some doubling wile foreshews.—Ah! yet once more
They’re checked—hold back with speed—on either hand
They nourish round—even yet persist—’Tis right,
Away they spring; the rustling stubbles bend
Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase
Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced.
From brake to brake she flies, and visits all
_260
Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure,
With love and plenty bless’d. See! there she goes,
She reels along, and by her gait betrays
Her inward weakness. See, how black she looks!
The sweat that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves
A languid scent. And now in open view
See, see, she flies! each eager hound exerts
His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve.
How quick she turns! their gaping jaws eludes,
And yet a moment lives; till round inclosed
_270
By all the greedy pack, with infant screams
She yields her breath, and there reluctant dies.
So when the furious Bacchanals assailed
Thracian Orpheus, poor ill-fated bard!
Loud was the cry; hills, woods, and Hebrus’ banks,
Returned their clamorous rage; distressed he flies,
Shifting from place to place, but flies in vain;
For eager they pursue, till panting, faint,
By noisy multitudes o’erpowered, he sinks,
To the relentless crowd a bleeding prey.
_280
The huntsman now, a deep incision made,
Shakes out with hands impure, and dashes down
Her reeking entrails, and yet quivering heart.
These claim the pack, the bloody perquisite
For all their toils. Stretched on the ground she lies,
A mangled corse; in her dim glaring eyes
Cold death exults, and stiffens every limb.
Awed by the threatening whip, the furious hounds
Around her bay; or at their master’s foot,
Each happy favourite courts his kind applause,
_290
With humble adulation cowering low.
All now is joy. With cheeks full-blown they wind
Her solemn dirge, while the loud-opening pack
The concert swell, and hills and dales return
The sadly-pleasing sounds. Thus the poor hare,
A puny, dastard animal, but versed
In subtle wiles, diverts the youthful train.
But if thy proud, aspiring soul disdains
So mean a prey, delighted with the pomp,
Magnificence and grandeur of the chase;
_300
Hear what the Muse from faithful records sings.
Why on the banks of Gemna, Indian stream,
Line within line, rise the pavilions proud,
Their silken streamers waving in the wind?
Why neighs the warrior horse? from tent to tent,
Why press in crowds the buzzing multitude?
Why shines the polished helm, and pointed lance,
This way and that far-beaming o’er the plain?
Nor Visapour nor Golconda rebel;
Nor the great Sophy, with his numerous host
_310
Lays waste the provinces; nor glory fires
To rob, and to destroy, beneath the name
And specious guise of war. A nobler cause
Calls Aurengzebe[7] to arms. No cities sacked,
No mother’s tears, no helpless orphan’s cries,
No violated leagues, with sharp remorse
Shall sting the conscious victor: but mankind
Shall hail him good and just. For ’tis on beasts
He draws his vengeful sword; on beasts of prey
Full-fed with human gore. See, see, he comes!
_320
Imperial Delhi opening wide her gates,
Pours out her thronging legions, bright in arms,
And all the pomp of war. Before them sound
Clarions and trumpets, breathing martial airs,
And bold defiance. High upon his throne,
Borne on the back of his proud elephant,
Sits the great chief of Tamur’s glorious race:
Sublime he sits, amid the radiant blaze
Of gems and gold. Omrahs about him crowd,
And rein the Arabian steed, and watch his nod:
_330
And potent Rajahs, who themselves preside
O’er realms of wide extent; but here submiss
Their homage pay, alternate kings and slaves.
Next these, with prying eunuchs girt around,
The fair sultanas of his court; a troop
Of chosen beauties, but with care concealed
From each intrusive eye; one look is death.
A cruel Eastern law! (had kings a power
But equal to their wild tyrannic will)
To rob us of the sun’s all-cheering ray,
_340
Were less severe. The vulgar close the march,
Slaves and artificers; and Delhi mourns
Her empty and depopulated streets.
Now at the camp arrived, with stern review,
Through groves of spears, from file to file he darts
His sharp experienced eye; their order marks,
Each in his station ranged, exact and firm,
Till in the boundless line his sight is lost.
Not greater multitudes in arms appeared,
On these extended plains, when Ammon’s[8] son
_350
With mighty Porus in dread battle joined,
The vassal world the prize. Nor was that host
More numerous of old, which the great king
Poured out on Greece from all the unpeopled East;
That bridged the Hellespont from shore to shore,
And drank the rivers dry. Meanwhile in troops
The busy hunter-train mark out the ground,
A wide circumference; full many a league
In compass round; woods, rivers, hills, and plains,
Large provinces; enough to gratify
_360
Ambition’s highest aim, could reason bound
Man’s erring will. Now sit in close divan
The mighty chiefs of this prodigious host.
He from the throne high-eminent presides,
Gives out his mandates proud, laws of the chase,
From ancient records drawn. With reverence low,
And prostrate at his feet, the chiefs receive
His irreversible decrees, from which
To vary is to die. Then his brave bands
Each to his station leads; encamping round,
_370
Till the wide circle is completely formed;
Where decent order reigns, what these command,
Those execute with speed, and punctual care;
In all the strictest discipline of war:
As if some watchful foe, with bold insult
Hung lowering o’er their camp. The high resolve,
That flies on wings, through all the encircling line,
Each motion steers, and animates the whole.
So by the sun’s attractive power controlled,
The planets in their spheres roll round his orb,
_380
On all he shines, and rules the great machine.
Ere yet the morn dispels the fleeting mists,
The signal given by the loud trumpet’s voice,
Now high in air the imperial standard waves,
Emblazoned rich with gold, and glittering gems;
And like a sheet of fire, through the dun gloom
Streaming meteorous. The soldiers’ shouts,
And all the brazen instuments of war,
With mutual clamor, and united din,
Fill the large concave. While from camp to camp,
_390
They catch the varied sounds, floating in air,
Round all the wide circumference, tigers fell
Shrink at the noise; deep in his gloomy den
The lion starts, and morsels yet unchewed
Drop from his trembling jaws. Now all at once
Onward they march embattled, to the sound
Of martial harmony; fifes, cornets, drums,
That rouse the sleepy soul to arms, and bold
Heroic deeds. In parties here and there
Detached o’er hill and dale, the hunters range
_400
Inquisitive; strong dogs that match in fight
The boldest brute, around their masters wait,
A faithful guard. No haunt unsearched, they drive
From every covert, and from every den,
The lurking savages. Incessant shouts
Re-echo through the woods, and kindling fires
Gleam from the mountain tops; the forest seems
One mingling blaze: like flocks of sheep they fly
Before the flaming brand: fierce lions, pards,
Boars, tigers, bears, and wolves; a dreadful crew
_410
Of grim blood-thirsty foes: growling along,
They stalk indignant; but fierce vengeance still
Hangs pealing on their rear, and pointed spears
Present immediate death. Soon as the night
Wrapt in her sable veil forbids the chase,
They pitch their tents, in even ranks around
The circling camp. The guards are placed, and fires
At proper distances ascending rise,
And paint the horizon with their ruddy light.
So round some island’s shore of large extent,
_420
Amid the gloomy horrors of the night,
The billows breaking on the pointed rocks,
Seem all one flame, and the bright circuit wide
Appears a bulwark of surrounding fire.
What dreadful bowlings, and what hideous roar,
Disturb those peaceful shades where erst the bird
That glads the night, had cheered the listening groves
With sweet complainings! Through the silent gloom
Oft they the guards assail; as oft repelled
They fly reluctant, with hot-boiling rage
_430
Stung to the quick, and mad with wild despair.
Thus day by day, they still the chase renew;
At night encamp; till now in straiter bounds
The circle lessens, and the beasts perceive
The wall that hems them in on every side.
And now their fury bursts, and knows no mean;
From man they turn, and point their ill-judged rage
Against their fellow brutes. With teeth and claws
The civil war begins; grappling they tear.
Lions on tigers prey, and bears on wolves:
_440
Horrible discord! till the crowd behind
Shouting pursue, and part the bloody fray.
At once their wrath subsides; tame as the lamb
The lion hangs his head, the furious pard,
Cowed and subdued, flies from the face of man,
Nor bears one glance of his commanding eye.
So abject is a tyrant in distress!
At last within the narrow plain confined,
A listed field, marked out for bloody deeds,
An amphitheatre more glorious far
_450
Than ancient Rome could boast, they crowd in heaps,
Dismayed, and quite appalled. In meet array
Sheathed in refulgent arms, a noble band
Advance; great lords of high imperial blood,
Early resolved to assert their royal race,
And prove by glorious deeds their valour’s growth
Mature, ere yet the callow down has spread
Its curling shade. On bold Arabian steeds
With decent pride they sit, that fearless hear
The lion’s dreadful roar; and down the rock
_460
Swift-shooting plunge, or o’er the mountain’s ridge
Stretching along, the greedy tiger leave
Panting behind. On foot their faithful slaves
With javelins armed attend; each watchful eye
Fixed on his youthful care, for him alone
He fears, and to redeem his life, unmoved
Would lose his own. The mighty Aurengzebe,
From his high-elevated throne, beholds
His blooming race; revolving in his mind
What once he was, in his gay spring of life,
_470
When vigour strung his nerves. Parental joy
Melts in his eyes, and flushes in his cheeks.
Now the loud trumpet sounds a charge. The shouts
Of eager hosts, through all the circling line,
And the wild bowlings of the beasts within
Rend wide the welkin, flights of arrows, winged
With death, and javelins launched from every arm,
Gall sore the brutal bands, with many a wound
Gored through and through. Despair at last prevails,
When fainting nature shrinks, and rouses all
_480
Their drooping courage. Swelled with furious rage,
Their eyes dart fire; and on the youthful band
They rush implacable. They their broad shields
Quick interpose; on each devoted head
Their flaming falchions, as the bolts of Jove,
Descend unerring. Prostrate on the ground
The grinning monsters lie, and their foul gore
Defiles the verdant plain. Nor idle stand
The trusty slaves; with pointed spears they pierce
Through their tough hides; or at their gaping mouths
_490
An easier passage find. The king of brutes
In broken roarings breathes his last; the bear
Grumbles in death; nor can his spotted skin,
Though sleek it shine, with varied beauties gay,
Save the proud pard from unrelenting fate.
The battle bleeds, grim Slaughter strides along,
Glutting her greedy jaws, grins o’er her prey.
Men, horses, dogs, fierce beasts of every kind,
A strange promiscuous carnage, drenched in blood,
And heaps on heaps amassed. What yet remain
_500
Alive, with vain assault contend to break
The impenetrable line. Others, whom fear
Inspires with self-preserving wiles, beneath
The bodies of the slain for shelter creep.
Aghast they fly, or hide their heads dispersed.
And now perchance (had Heaven but pleased) the work
Of death had been complete; and Aurengzebe
By one dread frown extinguished half their race.
When lo! the bright sultanas of his court
Appear, and to his ravished eyes display
_510
Those charms, but rarely to the day revealed.
Lowly they bend, and humbly sue, to save
The vanquished host. What mortal can deny
When suppliant beauty begs? At his command
Opening to right and left, the well-trained troops
Leave a large void for their retreating foes.
Away they fly, on wings of fear upborne,
To seek on distant hills their late abodes.
Ye proud oppressors, whose vain hearts exult
In wantonness of power, ’gainst the brute race,
_520
Fierce robbers like yourselves, a guiltless war
Wage uncontrolled: here quench your thirst of blood:
But learn from Aurengzebe to spare mankind.
Book III
The Argument
Of King Edgar and his imposing a tribute of wolves’ heads upon the kings of Wales: from hence a transition to fox-hunting, which is described in all its parts.—Censure of an over-numerous pack.—Of the several engines to destroy foxes, and other wild beasts.—The steel-trap described, and the manner of using it.—Description of the pitfall for the lion; and another for the elephant.—The ancient way of hunting the tiger with a mirror.—The Arabian manner of hunting the wild boar.—Description of the royal stag-chase at Windsor Forest.—Concludes with an address to his Majesty, and an eulogy upon mercy.
In Albion’s isle when glorious Edgar reigned,
He wisely provident, from her white cliffs
Launched half her forests, and with numerous fleets
Covered his wide domain: there proudly rode
Lord of the deep, the great prerogative
Of British monarchs. Each invader bold,
Dane and Norwegian, at a distance gazed,
And disappointed, gnashed his teeth in vain.
He scoured the seas, and to remotest shores
With swelling sails the trembling corsair fled.
_10
Rich commerce flourished; and with busy oars
Dashed the resounding surge. Nor less at land
His royal cares; wise, potent, gracious prince!
His subjects from their cruel foes he saved,
And from rapacious savages their flocks.
Cambria’s proud kings (though with reluctance) paid
Their tributary wolves; head after head,
In full account, till the woods yield no more,
And all the ravenous race extinct is lost.
In fertile pastures, more securely grazed
_20
The social troops; and soon their large increase
With curling fleeces whitened all the plains.
But yet, alas! the wily fox remained,
A subtle, pilfering foe, prowling around 24
In midnight shades, and wakeful to destroy.
In the full fold, the poor defenceless lamb,
Seized by his guileful arts, with sweet warm blood
Supplies a rich repast. The mournful ewe,
Her dearest treasure lost, through the dun night
Wanders perplexed, and darkling bleats in vain:
_30
While in the adjacent bush, poor Philomel,
(Herself a parent once, till wanton churls
Despoiled her nest) joins in her loud laments,
With sweeter notes, and more melodious woe.
For these nocturnal thieves, huntsman, prepare
Thy sharpest vengeance. Oh! how glorious ’tis
To right the oppressed, and bring the felon vile
To just disgrace! Ere yet the morning peep,
Or stars retire from the first blush of day,
With thy far-echoing voice alarm thy pack,
_40
And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse,
Thick with entangling grass, or prickly furze,
With silence lead thy many-coloured hounds,
In all their beauty’s pride. See! how they range
Dispersed, how busily this way and that,
They cross, examining with curious nose
Each likely haunt. Hark! on the drag I hear
Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry
More nobly full, and swelled with every mouth.
As straggling armies at the trumpet’s voice,
_50
Press to their standard; hither all repair,
And hurry through the woods; with hasty step
Bustling, and full of hope; now driven on heaps
They push, they strive; while from his kennel sneaks
The conscious villain. See! he skulks along,
Sleek at the shepherd’s cost, and plump with meals
Purloined. So thrive the wicked here below.
Though high his brush he bear, though tipped with white
It gaily shine; yet ere the sun declined
Recall the shades of night, the pampered rogue
_60
Shall rue his fate reversed; and at his heels
Behold the just avenger, swift to seize
His forfeit head, and thirsting for his blood.
Heavens! what melodious strains! how beat our hearts
Big with tumultuous joy! the loaded gales
Breathe harmony; and as the tempest drives
From wood to wood, through every dark recess
The forest thunders, and the mountains shake.
The chorus swells; less various, and less sweet
The trilling notes, when in those very groves,
_70
The feathered choristers salute the spring,
And every bush in concert joins; or when
The master’s hand, in modulated air,
Bids the loud organ breathe, and all the powers
Of music in one instrument combine,
An universal minstrelsy. And now
In vain each earth he tries, the doors are barred
Impregnable, nor is the covert safe;
He pants for purer air. Hark! what loud shouts
Re-echo through the groves! he breaks away,
_80
Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound
Strains o’er the lawn to reach the distant pack.
’Tis triumph all and joy. Now, my brave youths,
Now give a loose to the clean generous steed;
Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur;
But in the madness of delight, forget
Your fears. Far o’er the rocky hills we range,
And dangerous our course; but in the brave
True courage never fails. In vain the stream
In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch
_90
Wide-gaping threatens death. The craggy steep
Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care,
And clings to every twig, gives us no pain;
But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold
To pounce his prey. Then up the opponent hill,
By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft:
So ships in winter-seas now sliding sink
Adown the steepy wave, then tossed on high
Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.
What lengths we pass! where will the wandering chase
_100
Lead us bewildered! smooth as the swallows skim
The new-shorn mead, and far more swift we fly.
See my brave pack! how to the head they press,
Jostling in close array; then more diffuse
Obliquely wheel, while from their opening mouths
The vollied thunder breaks. So when the cranes
Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing
Their figure oft they change, and their loud clang
From cloud to cloud rebounds. How far behind
The hunter-crew, wide straggling o’er the plain!
_110
The panting courser now with trembling nerves
Begins to reel; urged by the goring spur,
Makes many a faint effort: he snorts, he foams,
The big round drops run trickling down his sides,
With sweat and blood distained. Look back and view
The strange confusion of the vale below,
Where sour vexation reigns; see yon poor jade,
In vain the impatient rider frets and swears,
With galling spurs harrows his mangled sides;
He can no more: his stiff unpliant limbs
_120
Rooted in earth, unmoved and fixed he stands,
For every cruel curse returns a groan,
And sobs, and faints, and dies. Who without grief
Can view that pampered steed, his master’s joy,
His minion, and his daily care, well clothed,
Well fed with every nicer cate; no cost,
No labour spared; who, when the flying chase
Broke from the copse, without a rival led
The numerous train: now a sad spectacle
Of pride brought low, and humbled insolence,
_130
Drove like a panniered ass, and scourged along.
While these with loosened reins, and dangling heels,
Hang on their reeling palfreys, that scarce bear
Their weights; another in the treacherous bog
Lies floundering half engulfed. What biting thoughts
Torment the abandoned crew! Old age laments
His vigour spent: the tall, plump, brawny youth
Curses his cumbrous bulk; and envies now
The short Pygmean race, he whilom kenn’d
With proud insulting leer. A chosen few
_140
Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath
Their pleasing toils. Here, huntsman, from this height
Observe yon birds of prey; if I can judge,
’Tis there the villain lurks; they hover round
And claim him as their own. Was I not right?
See! there he creeps along; his brush he drags,
And sweeps the mire impure; from his wide jaws
His tongue unmoistened hangs; symptoms too sure
Of sudden death. Ha! yet he flies, nor yields
To black despair. But one loose more, and all
_150
His wiles are vain. Hark! through yon village now
The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots
And leafless elms return the joyous sounds.
Through every homestall, and through every yard,
His midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies;
Through every hole he sneaks, through every jakes
Plunging he wades besmeared, and fondly hopes
In a superior stench to lose his own:
But faithful to the track, the unerring hounds
With peals of echoing vengeance close pursue.
_160
And now distressed, no sheltering covert near,
Into the hen-roost creeps, whose walls with gore
Distained attest his guilt. There, villain, there
Expect thy fate deserved. And soon from thence
The pack inquisitive, with clamour loud,
Drag out their trembling prize; and on his blood
With greedy transport feast. In bolder notes
Each sounding horn proclaims the felon dead:
And all the assembled village shouts for joy.
The farmer who beholds his mortal foe
_170
Stretched at his feet, applauds the glorious deed,
And grateful calls us to a short repast!
In the full glass the liquid amber smiles,
Our native product. And his good old mate
With choicest viands heaps the liberal board,
To crown our triumphs, and reward our toils.
Here must the instructive Muse (but with respect)
Censure that numerous pack, that crowd of state,
With which the vain profusion of the great
Covers the lawn, and shakes the trembling copse.
_180
Pompous incumbrance! A magnificence
Useless, vexatious! For the wily fox,
Safe in the increasing number of his foes,
Kens well the great advantage: slinks behind
And slily creeps through the same beaten track,
And hunts them step by step; then views escaped
With inward ecstasy, the panting throng
In their own footsteps puzzled, foiled and lost.
So when proud Eastern kings summon to arms
Their gaudy legions, from far distant climes
_190
They flock in crowds, unpeopling half a world:
But when the day of battle calls them forth
To charge the well-trained foe, a band compact
Of chosen veterans; they press blindly on,
In heaps confused, by their own weapons fall,
A smoking carnage scattered o’er the plain.
Nor hounds alone this noxious brood destroy:
The plundered warrener full many a wile
Devises to entrap his greedy foe,
Fat with nocturnal spoils. At close of day,
_200
With silence drags his trail; then from the ground
Pares thin the close-grazed turf, there with nice hand
Covers the latent death, with curious springs
Prepared to fly at once, whene’er the tread
Of man or beast unwarily shall press
The yielding surface. By the indented steel
With gripe tenacious held, the felon grins,
And struggles, but in vain: yet oft ’tis known,
When every art has failed, the captive fox
Has shared the wounded joint, and with a limb
_210
Compounded for his life. But if perchance
In the deep pitfall plunged, there’s no escape;
But unreprieved he dies, and bleached in air
The jest of clowns, his reeking carcase hangs.
Of these are various kinds; not even the king
Of brutes evades this deep devouring grave:
But by the wily African betrayed,
Heedless of fate, within its gaping jaws
Expires indignant. When the orient beam
With blushes paints the dawn; and all the race
_220
Carnivorous, with blood full-gorged, retire
Into their darksome cells, there satiate snore
O’er dripping offals, and the mangled limbs
Of men and beasts; the painful forester 224
Climbs the high hills, whose proud aspiring tops,
With the tall cedar crowned, and taper fir,
Assail the clouds. There ‘mong the craggy rocks,
And thickets intricate, trembling he views
His footsteps in the sand; the dismal road
And avenue to death. Hither he calls
_230
His watchful bands; and low into the ground
A pit they sink, full many a fathom deep.
Then in the midst a column high is reared,
The butt of some fair tree; upon whose top
A lamb is placed, just ravished from his dam.
And next a wall they build, with stones and earth
Encircling round, and hiding from all view
The dreadful precipice. Now when the shades
Of night hang lowering o’er the mountain’s brow;
And hunger keen, and pungent thirst of blood,
_240
Rouse up the slothful beast, he shakes his sides,
Slow-rising from his lair, and stretches wide
His ravenous jaws, with recent gore distained.
The forests tremble, as he roars aloud,
Impatient to destroy. O’erjoyed he hears
The bleating innocent, that claims in vain
The shepherd’s care, and seeks with piteous moan
The foodful teat; himself, alas! designed
Another’s meal. For now the greedy brute
Winds him from far; and leaping o’er the mound
_250
To seize his trembling prey, headlong is plunged
Into the deep abyss. Prostrate he lies
Astunned and impotent. Ah! what avail
Thine eye-balls flashing fire, thy length of tail,
That lashes thy broad sides, thy jaws besmeared
With blood and offals crude, thy shaggy mane
The terror of the woods, thy stately port,
And bulk enormous, since by stratagem
Thy strength is foiled? Unequal is the strife,
When sovereign reason combats brutal rage.
_260
On distant Ethiopia’s sun-burnt coasts,
The black inhabitants a pitfall frame,
But of a different kind, and different use.
With slender poles the wide capacious mouth,
And hurdles slight, they close; o’er these is spread
A floor of verdant turf, with all its flowers
Smiling delusive, and from strictest search
Concealing the deep grave that yawns below.
Then boughs of trees they cut, with tempting fruit
Of various kinds surcharged; the downy peach,
_270
The clustering vine, and of bright golden rind
The fragrant orange. Soon as evening gray
Advances slow, besprinkling all around
With kind refreshing dews the thirsty glebe,
The stately elephant from the close shade
With step majestic strides, eager to taste
The cooler breeze, that from the sea-beat shore
Delightful breathes, or in the limpid stream
To lave his panting sides; joyous he scents
The rich repast, unweeting of the death
_280
That lurks within. And soon he sporting breaks
The brittle boughs, and greedily devours
The fruit delicious. Ah! too dearly bought;
The price is life. For now the treacherous turf
Trembling gives way; and the unwieldy beast
Self-sinking, drops into the dark profound.
So when dilated vapours, struggling heave
The incumbent earth; if chance the caverned ground
Shrinking subside, and the thin surface yield,
Down sinks at once the ponderous dome, engulfed
_290
With all its towers. Subtle, delusive man!
How various are thy wiles! artful to kill
Thy savage foes, a dull unthinking race!
Fierce from his lair, springs forth the speckled pard,
Thirsting for blood, and eager to destroy;
The huntsman flies, but to his flight alone
Confides not: at convenient distance fixed,
A polished mirror stops in full career
The furious brute: he there his image views;
Spots against spots with rage improving glow;
_300
Another pard his bristly whiskers curls,
Grins as he grins, fierce-menacing, and wide
Distends his opening jaws; himself against
Himself opposed, and with dread vengeance armed.
The huntsman now secure, with fatal aim
Directs the pointed spear, by which transfixed
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
_310
His brethren of the plains; without whose aid
The hunter’s arts are vain, unskilled to wage
With the more active brutes an equal war.
But borne by him, without the well-trained pack,
Man dares his foe, on wings of wind secure.
Him the fierce Arab mounts, and with his troop
Of bold compeers, ranges the deserts wild,
Where by the magnet’s aid, the traveller
Steers his untrodden course; yet oft on land
Is wrecked, in the high-rolling waves of sand
_320
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 feathered death into his brawny sides.
But perilous the attempt. For if the steed
Haply too near approach; or the loose earth
_330
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
_340
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,
Charmed once the listening dryads, with his song
Sublimely sweet. Oh! grant me, sacred shade,
To glean submiss what thy full sickle leaves.
_350
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: heroic, noble youths,
In arts and arms renowned, and lovely nymphs
The fairest of this isle, where Beauty dwells
Delighted, and deserts her Paphian grove
For our more favoured shades: in proud parade
These shine magnificent, and press around
The royal happy pair. Great in themselves,
_360
They smile superior; 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; unskilled to wield the sword,
Or bend the bow, these kill with surer aim.
The royal offspring, fairest of the fair,
_370
Lead on the splendid train. Anna, more bright
Than summer suns, or as the lightning keen,
With irresistible effulgence armed,
Fires every heart. He must be more than man,
Who unconcerned 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,
Ever triumphant! whose victorious charms,
_380
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 arrayed?
Or Britain’s second hope? Hail, blooming youth![9]
May all your virtues with your years improve,
_390
Till in consumate 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 fixed on earth, no voice, no sound is heard
Within the wide serail, but all is hushed,
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,
_400
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.
Unharboured 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-mouthed pack
_410
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
_420
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
Soft yielding to the step? All now is plain,
_430
Plain as the strand sea-laved, that stretches far
Beneath the rocky shore. Glades crossing glades
The forest opens to our wondering view:
Such was the king’s command. Let tyrants fierce
Lay waste the world; his the more glorious part
To check their pride; and when the brazen voice
Of war is hushed (as erst victorious Rome)
To employ his stationed legions in the works
Of peace; to smoothe the rugged wilderness,
To drain the stagnate fen, to raise the slope
_440
Depending road, and to make gay the face
Of nature, with the embellishments of art.
How melts my beating heart! as I behold
Each lovely nymph our island’s boast and pride,
Push on the generous steed, that strokes along
O’er rough, o’er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill,
Nor falters in the extended vale below:
Their garments loosely waving in the wind,
And all the flush of beauty in their cheeks!
While at their sides their pensive lovers wait,
_450
Direct their dubious course; now chilled with fear
Solicitous, and now with love inflamed.
Oh! grant, indulgent Heaven, no rising storm
May darken with black wings, this glorious scene!
Should some malignant power thus damp our joys,
Vain were the gloomy cave, such as of old
Betrayed to lawless love the Tyrian queen.
For Britain’s virtuous nymphs are chaste as fair,
Spotless, unblamed, with equal triumph reign
In the dun gloom, as in the blaze of day.
_460
Now the blown stag, through woods, bogs, roads, and streams
Has measured half the forest; but alas!
He flies in vain, he flies not from his fears.
Though far he cast the lingering pack behind,
His haggard fancy still with horror views
The fell destroyer; still the fatal cry
Insults his ears, and wounds his trembling heart.
So the poor fury-haunted wretch (his hands
In guiltless blood distained) still seems to hear
The dying shrieks; and the pale threatening ghost
_470
Moves as he moves, and as he flies pursues.
See here his slot; up yon green hill he climbs,
Pants on its brow a while, sadly looks back
On his pursuers, covering all the plain;
But wrung with anguish, bears not long the sight,
Shoots down the steep, and sweats along the vale:
There mingles with the herd, where once he reigned
Proud monarch of the groves, whose clashing beam
His rivals awed, and whose exalted power
Was still rewarded with successful love.
_480
But the base herd have learned the ways of men,
Averse they fly, or with rebellious aim
Chase him from thence: needless their impious deed,
The huntsman knows him by a thousand marks,
Black, and embossed; nor are his hounds deceived;
Too well distinguish these, and never leave
Their once devoted foe; familiar grows
His scent, and strong their appetite to kill.
Again he flies, and with redoubled speed
Skims o’er the lawn; still the tenacious crew
_490
Hang on the track, aloud demand their prey,
And push him many a league. If haply then
Too far escaped, and the gay courtly train
Behind are cast, the huntsman’s clanging whip
Stops full their bold career; passive they stand,
Unmoved, an humble, an obsequious crowd,
As if by stern Medusa gazed to stones.
So at their general’s voice whole armies halt
In full pursuit, and check their thirst of blood.
Soon at the king’s command, like hasty streams
_500
Dammed up a while, they foam, and pour along
With fresh-recruited might. The stag, who hoped
His foes were lost, now once more hears astunned
The dreadful din; he shivers every limb,
He starts, he bounds; each bush presents a foe.
Pressed by the fresh relay, no pause allowed,
Breathless, and faint, he falters in his pace,
And lifts his weary limbs with pain, that scarce
Sustain their load! he pants, he sobs appalled;
Drops down his heavy head to earth, beneath
_510
His cumbrous beams oppressed. But if perchance
Some prying eye surprise him; soon he rears
Erect his towering front, bounds o’er the lawn
With ill-dissembled vigour, to amuse
The knowing forester; who inly smiles
At his weak shifts, and unavailing frauds.
So midnight tapers waste their last remains,
Shine forth a while, and as they blaze expire.
From wood to wood redoubling thunders roll,
And bellow through the vales; the moving storm
_520
Thickens amain, and loud triumphant shouts,
And horns shrill-warbling in each glade, prelude
To his approaching fate. And now in view
With hobbling gait, and high, exerts amazed
What strength is left: to the last dregs of life
Reduced, his spirits fail, on every side
Hemmed in, besieged; not the least opening left
To gleaming hope, the unhappy’s last reserve.
Where shall he turn? or whither fly? Despair
Gives courage to the weak. Resolved to die,
_530
He fears no more, but rushes on his foes,
And deals his deaths around; beneath his feet
These grovelling lie, those by his antlers gored
Defile the ensanguined plain. Ah! see distressed
He stands at bay against yon knotty trunk,
That covers well his rear, his front presents
An host of foes. Oh! shun, ye noble train,
The rude encounter, and believe your lives
Your country’s due alone. As now aloof
They wing around, he finds his soul upraised
_540
To dare some great exploit; he charges home
Upon the broken pack, that on each side
Fly diverse; then as o’er the turf he strains,
He vents the cooling stream, and up the breeze
Urges his course with eager violence:
Then takes the soil, and plunges in the flood
Precipitant; down the mid-stream he wafts
Along, till (like a ship distressed, that runs
Into some winding creek) close to the verge
Of a small island, for his weary feet
_550
Sure anchorage he finds, there skulks immersed.
His nose alone above the wave draws in
The vital air; all else beneath the flood
Concealed, and lost, deceives each prying eye
Of man or brute. In vain the crowding pack
Draw on the margin of the stream, or cut
The liquid wave with oary feet, that move
In equal time. The gliding waters leave
No trace behind, and his contracted pores
But sparingly perspire: the huntsman strains
_560
His labouring lungs, and puffs his cheeks in vain;
At length a blood-hound bold, studious to kill,
And exquisite of sense, winds him from far;
Headlong he leaps into the flood, his mouth
Loud opening spends amain, and his wide throat
Swells every note with joy; then fearless dives
Beneath the wave, hangs on his haunch, and wounds
The unhappy brute, that flounders in the stream,
Sorely distressed, and struggling strives to mount
The steepy shore. Haply once more escaped,
_570
Again he stands at bay, amid the groves
Of willows, bending low their downy heads.
Outrageous transport fires the greedy pack;
These swim the deep, and those crawl up with pain
The slippery bank, while others on firm land
Engage; the stag repels each bold assault,
Maintains his post, and wounds for wounds returns.
As when some wily corsair boards a ship
Full-freighted, or from Afric’s golden coasts,
Or India’s wealthy strand, his bloody crew
_580
Upon her deck he slings; these in the deep
Drop short, and swim to reach her steepy sides,
And clinging, climb aloft; while those on board
Urge on the work of fate; the master bold,
Pressed to his last retreat, bravely resolves
To sink his wealth beneath the whelming wave,
His wealth, his foes, nor unrevenged to die.
So fares it with the stag: so he resolves
To plunge at once into the flood below,
Himself, his foes in one deep gulf immersed.
_590
Ere yet he executes this dire intent,
In wild disorder once more views the light;
Beneath a weight of woe, he groans distressed:
The tears run trickling down his hairy cheeks;
He weeps, nor weeps in vain. The king beholds
His wretched plight, and tenderness innate
Moves his great soul. Soon at his high command
Rebuked, the disappointed, hungry pack
Retire submiss, and grumbling quit their prey.
Great Prince! from thee, what may thy subjects hope;
_600
So kind, and so beneficent to brutes?
O mercy, heavenly born! Sweet attribute!
Thou great, thou best prerogative of power!
Justice may guard the throne, but joined with thee,
On rocks of adamant it stands secure,
And braves the storm beneath; soon as thy smiles
Gild the rough deep, the foaming waves subside,
And all the noisy tumult sinks in peace.