Argument.

In Albion’s isle, when glorious Edgar reign’d, He, wisely provident, from her white cliffs Launch’d half her forests, and, with numerous fleets, Cover’d 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, gnash’d his teeth in vain. He scour’d the seas, and to remotest shores, With swelling sails, the trembling corsair fled. Rich commerce flourish’d; and with busy oars Dash’d 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 The social troops; and soon their large increase, With curling fleeces, whiten’d all the plains. But yet, alas! the wily fox remain’d, A subtle, pilfering foe, prowling around 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 perplex’d, and, darkling, bleats in vain: While, in the adjacent bush, poor Philomel, Herself a parent once, till wanton churls Despoil’d 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 oppress’d, 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, And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse, Thick with entangling grass, or prickly furze, With silence lead thy many-colour’d 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 swell’d with every mouth. As straggling armies, at the trumpet’s voice, Press to their standard; hither all repair, And hurry through the woods with hasty step, Rustling and full of hope; now, driven in 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 Purloin’d: so thrive the wicked here below. Though high his brush he bear, though, tipp’d with white, It gaily shine, yet ere the sun, declined, Recall the shades of night, the pamper’d rogue 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, The feather’d 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 musick, in one instrument combine An universal minstrelsy. And now In vain each earth he tries; the doors are barr’d, Impregnable; nor is the covert safe; He pants for purer air. Hark! what loud shouts Re-echo through the groves!—he breaks away! 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, 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, toss’d on high, Ride on the billows, and defy the storm. What lengths we pass! where will the wandering chase Lead us, bewilder’d! smooth as swallows skim The new-shorn mead, and far more swift, we fly. See, my brave pack! how to the head they press, Justling 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! 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 distain’d. 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, Rooted in earth, unmoved and fix’d he stands, For every cruel curse returns a groan, And sobs, and faints, and dies! who, without grief, Can view that pamper’d 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, Drove like a pannier’d ass, and scourged along! While these, with loosen’d reins and dangling heels,

Hang on their reeling palfreys, that scarce bear Their weights; another, in the treacherous bog, Lies floundering, half ingulf’d. What biting thoughts Torment the abandon’d 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, Alone, the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath Their pleasing toils. Here, huntsman! from this highth 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 unmoisten’d hangs; symptoms too sure Of sudden death. Ha! yet he flies, nor yields To black despair: but one loose more, and all 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, besmear’d; and fondly hopes In a superiour stench to lose his own: But, faithful to the track, the unerring hounds, With peals of echoing vengeance, close pursue. And now, distress’d, no sheltering covert near, Into the hen-roost creeps, whose walls, with gore Distain’d, 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 Stretch’d 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.

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 slyly 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, foil’d, and lost. So, when proud Eastern kings summon to arms Their gaudy legions, from far distant climes They flock in crowds, unpeopling half a world; But when the day of battle calls them forth, To charge the well-train’d foe, a band compact Of chosen veterans, they press blindly on, In heaps confused, by their own weapons fall, A smoking carnage scatter’d o’er the plain. Nor hounds alone this noxious brood destroy: The plunder’d warrener full many a wile Devises, to entrap his greedy foe, Fat with nocturnal spoils. At close of day, He silent 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 fail’d, the captive fox Has shared the wounded joint, and, with a limb, Compounded for his life. But if, perchance, In the deep pitfall plunged, there’s no escape; But unreprieved he dies, and, bleach’d 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 betray’d, Heedless of fate, within its gaping jaws Expires, indignant. When the orient beam With blushes paints the dawn, and all the race 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 Climbs the high hills, whose proud aspiring tops, With the tall cedar crown’d, 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 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 rear’d, The butt of some fair tree; upon whose top A lamb is placed, just ravish’d 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 mountains brow, And hunger keen, and pungent thirst of blood, Rouze up the slothful beast, he shakes his sides, Slow-rising from his lair, and stretches wide His ravenous paws, with recent gore distain’d; The forests tremble as he roars aloud, Impatient to destroy. O’erjoy’d, he hears The bleating innocent, that claims, in vain, The shepherd’s care, and seeks, with piteous moan, The foodful teat; himself, alas! design’d Another’s meal. For now the greedy brute Winds him from far; and, leaping o’er the mound, To seize his trembling prey, headlong is plunged Into the deep abyss. Prostrate he lies, Astunn’d, and impotent. Ah! what avail Thine eye-balls flashing fire, thy length of tail

That lashes thy broad sides, thy jaws besmear’d With blood, and offals crude, thy shaggy mane, The terrour of the woods, thy stately port, And bulk enormous, since, by stratagem, Thy strength is foil’d? Unequal is the strife, When sovereign reason combats brutal rage. 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, 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 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 cavern’d ground, Shrinking, subside, and the thin surface yield, Down sinks, at once, the ponderous dome, ingulf’d, 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 fix’d, A polish’d mirror stops, in full career, The furious brute: he there his image views; Spots against spots, with rage improving, glow; Another pard his bristly whiskers curls, Grins as he grins, fierce-menacing, and wide Distends his opening paws; himself against Himself opposed, and with dread vengeance arm’d.

The huntsman, now secure, with fatal aim Directs the pointed spear, by which transfix’d, He dies; and with him dies the rival shade. Thus man innumerous engines forms, to assail The savage kind; but most, the docile horse, Swift, and confederate with man, annoys His brethren of the plains; without whose aid The hunter’s arts were vain, unskill’d to wage, With the more active brutes, an equal war; But borne by him, without the well-train’d pack, Man dares his foe, on wings of wind secure. Him the fierce Arab mounts, and, with his troop Of bold compeers, ranges the desert wild, Where, by the magnet’s aid, the traveller Steers his untrodden course; yet oft, on land, Is wreck’d, in the high-rolling waves of sand Immersed, and lost; while these intrepid bands, Safe in their horses’ speed, out-fly the storm, And scouring round, make men and beasts their prey. The grisly boar is singled from his herd, As large as that in Erimanthian woods, A match for Hercules: round him they fly, In circles wide; and each, in passing, sends His feather’d death into his brawny sides. But perilous the attempt; for, if the steed

Haply too near approach, or the loose earth His footing fail, the watchful angry beast The advantage spies, and, at one sidelong glance, Rips up his groin. Wounded, he rears aloft, And, plunging, from his back the rider hurls Precipitant; then, bleeding, spurns the ground, And drags his reeking entrails o’er the plain. Meanwhile the surly monster trots along, But with unequal speed; for still they wound, Swift wheeling in the spacious ring: a wood Of darts upon his back he bears; adown His tortured sides the crimson torrents roll, From many a gaping font; and now at last, Staggering, he falls, in blood and foam expires. But whither roves my devious Muse, intent On antique tales, while yet the royal stag Unsung remains? Tread, with respectful awe, Windsor’s green glades, where Denham, tuneful bard, Charm’d once the listening Dryads with his song, Sublimely sweet. O grant me, sacred shade, To glean, submiss, what thy full sickle leaves! The morning sun, that gilds, with trembling rays, Windsor’s high towers, beholds the courtly train Mount for the chase; nor views in all his course A scene so gay: heroick, noble youths,

In arts and arms renown’d, and lovely nymphs, The fairest of this isle, where beauty dwells, Delighted, and deserts her Paphian grove, For our more favour’d shades; in proud parade These shine magnificent, and press around The royal happy pair. Great in themselves, They smile superiour; of external show Regardless, while their inbred virtues give A lustre to their power, and grace their court With real splendours, far above the pomp Of Eastern kings, in all their tinsel pride. Like troops of Amazons, the female band Prance round their cars; not in refulgent arms, As those of old; unskill’d to wield the sword, Or bend the bow, these kill with surer aim. The royal offspring, fairest of the fair, Lead on the splendid train. Anna, more bright Than summer suns, or as the lightning keen, With irresistible effulgence arm’d, Fires every heart: he must be more than man Who, unconcern’d, can bear the piercing ray. Amelia, milder than the blushing dawn, With sweet engaging air, but equal power, Insensibly subdues, and in soft chains Her willing captives leads. Illustrious maids!

Ever triumphant! whose victorious charms, Without the needless aid of high descent, Had awed mankind, and taught the world’s great lords To bow, and sue for grace. But who is he, Fresh as a rose-bud newly blown, and fair As opening lilies, on whom every eye With joy and admiration dwells? See, see! He reins his docile barb with manly grace. Is it Adonis, for the chase array’d? Or Britain’s second hope? Hail, blooming youth! May all your virtues, with your years, improve, Till, in consummate worth, you shine the pride Of these our days, and, to succeeding times, A bright example. As his guard of mutes On the great sultan wait, with eyes deject, And fix’d on earth, no voice, no sound, is heard Within the wide serail, but all is hush’d, And awful silence reigns; thus stand the pack, Mute, and unmoved, and cowering low to earth, While pass the glittering court, and royal pair: So disciplined those hounds, and so reserved, Whose honour ’tis to glad the hearts of kings: But soon the winding horn, and huntsman’s voice, Let loose the general chorus; far around Joy spreads its wings, and the gay morning smiles.

Unharbour’d now, the royal stag forsakes His wonted lair; he shakes his dappled sides, And tosses high his beamy head; the copse Beneath his antlers bends. What doubling shifts He tries! not more the wily hare: in these Would still persist, did not the full-mouth’d pack, With dreadful concert, thunder in his rear. The woods reply, the hunter’s cheering shouts Float through the glades, and the wide forest rings. How merrily they chant! their nostrils deep Inhale the grateful steam. Such is the cry, And such the harmonious din, the soldier deems The battle kindling, and the statesman grave Forgets his weighty cares; each age, each sex, In the wild transport joins; luxuriant joy, And pleasure in excess, sparkling, exult On every brow, and revel unrestrained. How happy art thou, man! when thou’rt no more Thyself; when all the pangs, that grind thy soul, In rapture, and in sweet oblivion lost, Yield a short interval, and ease from pain! See, the swift courser strains, his shining hoofs Securely beat the solid ground. Who now The dangerous pitfall fears, with tangling heath High-overgrown? or who the quivering bog,

Soft yielding to the step? All now is plain, 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 hush’d, as erst victorious Rome, To employ his station’d legions in the works Of peace; to smooth the rugged wilderness, To drain the stagnate fen, to raise the slope 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, Direct their dubious course; now chill’d with fear, Solicitous, and now with love inflamed. O 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, Betray’d 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. 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 distain’d, still seems to hear The dying shrieks; and the pale threatening ghost Moves as he moves, and, as he flies, pursues. See here, his slot; up yon green hill he climbs, Pants on its brow awhile; 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 reign’d Proud monarch of the groves; whose clashing beam

His rivals awed, and whose exalted power Was still rewarded with successful love. But the base herd have learn’d 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 imboss’d; 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 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 Damm’d up a while, they foam, and pour along With fresh recruited might. The stag, who hoped His foes were lost, now once more hears, astunn’d,

The dreadful din: he shivers every limb; He starts, he bounds; each bush presents a foe. Press’d by the fresh relay, no pause allow’d, Breathless and faint, he falters in his pace, And lifts his weary limbs with pain, that scarce Sustain their load: he pants, he sobs, appall’d; Drops down his heavy head to earth, beneath His cumbrous beams oppress’d. 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 Thickens amain, and loud triumphant shouts, And horns, still 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 Hemm’d 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, 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, distress’d, He stands at bay against yon knotty trunk, That covers well his rear, his front presents An host of foes. O 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, 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 distress’d, that runs Into some winding creek, close to the verge Of a small island, for his weary feet Sure anchorage he finds, there skulks, immersed; His nose, alone above the wave, draws in The vital air; all else beneath the flood

Conceal’d, 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 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 distress’d, and, struggling, strives to mount The steepy shore. Haply once more escaped; 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 Africk’s golden coasts, Or India’s wealthy strand, his bloody crew 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, Press’d 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. Ere yet he executes this dire intent, In wild disorder once more views the light; Beneath a weight of woe he groans distress’d: 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; 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, join’d 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.