Argument.

Nor will it less delight the attentive sage, To observe that instinct, which, unerring, guides The brutal race, which mimicks reason’s lore, And oft transcends. Heaven-taught, the roebuck 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; strain’d to excess each nerve, Each slacken’d sinew fails; they pant, they foam: Then o’er the lawn he bounds, o’er the high hills Stretches secure, and leaves the scatter’d 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 wandering shepherds, on the Arabian plains, No settled residence observe, but shift Their moving camp; now, on some cooler hill, With cedars crown’d, 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. 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 return’d, In the long grass they skulk, or, shrinking, creep Among the wither’d 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 vex’d, each springing lark Babbling pursue, far scatter’d o’er the fields. 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 Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord awed: But courteous now, he levels every fence, Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud,

Charm’d 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 renown’d, and a far nobler train, Than proud Elean fields could boast of old. Oh! were a Theban lyre not wanting here, And Pindar’s voice, to do their merit right! Or to those spacious plains, where the strain’d 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 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. 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, Cow’d by the ruling rod, and haughty frowns Of pedagogues severe, from their hard tasks If once dismiss’d, no limits can contain The tumult raised within their little breasts, But give a loose to all their frolick play: So from their kennel rush the joyous pack; 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. 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; 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 authentick voice, Avow the recent trail, the justling 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: But quick they back recoil, and wisely check Their eager haste; then, o’er the fallow’d ground How leisurely they work, and many a pause The harmonious concert breaks; till more assured, With joys redoubled the low vallies 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 wither’d grass, that clings Around her head, of the same russet hue, Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes, With life full beaming, her vain wiles betray’d. At distance draw thy pack, let all be hush’d, No clamour loud, no frantick 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 meuse she flies! Here, huntsman, bring, But without hurry, all thy jolly hounds, And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop, 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 spurr’d on by fear. The welkin rings; men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods, In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths, Stripp’d for the chase, give all your souls to joy! See how their coursers, than the mountain roe 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 barr’d gate, O’er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend O’er their arch’d 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, 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 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 ravish’d 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 Through all the regions near. Afflictive birch No more the schoolboy 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 unfinish’d 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 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 stain’d 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. But hold—I see her from the covert break; Sad, on yon little eminence, she sits; Intent she listens, with one ear erect,

Pondering, 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, 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 toss’d; Oblivion to be wish’d. 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 gain’d, Painfully panting, there we breathe awhile; Then, like a foaming torrent, pouring down Precipitant, we smoke along the vale. Happy the man, who, with unrivall’d speed, Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view The struggling pack; how, in the rapid course, Alternate they preside, and, justling, 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 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 gaze, Have haply foil’d 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 Sallied awhile, at once their peal renew, 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 foreshows.—Ah, yet once more They’re check’d!—hold back with speed—on either hand They flourish 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 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 enclosed By all the greedy pack, with infant screams She yields her breath, and there reluctant dies! So, when the furious Bacchanals assail’d Threïcian Orpheus, poor ill-fated bard! Loud was the cry; hills, woods, and Hebrus’ banks, Return’d their clamorous rage: distress’d he flies, Shifting from place to place, but flies in vain; For eager they pursue, till panting, faint, By noisy multitudes o’erpower’d, he sinks, To the relentless crowd a bleeding prey. 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. Stretch’d 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, 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, Hear what the Muse from faithful records sings. Why, on the banks of Jumnah, 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 polish’d 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, 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 to arms. No cities sacked, No mothers tears, no helpless orphans 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! 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 Timur’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: 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, conceal’d From each intrusive eye; one look is death.

Ah! cruel Eastern law! had kings a power But equal to their wild tyrannick will, To rob us of the sun’s all-cheering ray, 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 rang’d, exact and firm, Till in the boundless line his sight is lost. Not greater multitudes in arms appear’d, On these extended plains, when Ammon’s son With mighty Porus in dread battle join’d, The vassal world the prize. Nor was that host More numerous of old, which the great king Pour’d out on Greece, from all the unpeopled East; That bridged the Hellespont from shore to shore, And drank the rivers dry. Mean while, 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 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, Till the wide circle is completely form’d. 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 the 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 controll’d, The planets in their spheres roll round his orb; 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, Emblazon’d 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 instruments of war, With mutual clamour, and united din, Fill the large concave: while, from camp to camp, 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 unchew’d, 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 Heroick deeds. In parties, here and there Detach’d, o’er hill and dale, the hunters range, Inquisitive; strong dogs, that match in fight The boldest brute, around their masters wait, A faithful guard. No haunt unsearch’d, 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 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, Wrapp’d 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, 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 howlings, and what hideous roar, Disturb those peaceful shades! where erst the bird, That glads the night, had cheer’d the listening groves With sweet complainings. Through the silent gloom Oft they the guards assail; as oft repell’d They fly reluctant, with hot boiling rage Stung to the quick, and mad with wild despair. Thus, day by day, they still the chase renew; At night encamp; till now, in straighter 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: 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, Cow’d 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, mark’d out for bloody deeds, An amphitheatre, more glorious far Than ancient Rome could boast, they crowd in heaps, Dismay’d, and quite appall’d. In meet array, Sheath’d in refulgent arms, a noble band Advance; great lords of high imperial blood, Early resolved to assert the 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, 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 arm’d, attend; each watchful eye Fix’d 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, 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 the circling line, And the wild howlings of the beasts within, Rend wide the welkin! flights of arrows, wing’d With death, and javelins, launch’d 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 Their drooping courage: swell’d 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 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, drench’d in blood, And heaps on heaps amass’d. What yet remain 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, extinguish’d half their race; When lo! the bright sultanas of his court Appear, and to his ravish’d eyes display Those charms, but rarely to the day reveal’d.

Lowly they bend, and humbly sue, to save The vanquish’d host. What mortal can deny, When suppliant beauty begs? At his command, Opening to right and left, the well-train’d 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, Fierce robbers, like yourselves, a guiltless war Wage uncontroll’d; here quench your thirst of blood: But learn, from Aurengzebe, to spare mankind.