Part 2

_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! Whom Cambria’s towering hills proclaim their lord, Deign thou to hear my bold, instructive song. While grateful citizens, with pompous shew, 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 Of their exotick minstrels, and shrill pipes, The price of manhood, hail thee with a song, And airs soft-warbling; my hoarse-sounding horn

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 14-38.]

Invites thee to the chase, the sport of kings; Image of war, without its guilt. The Muse Aloft on wing shall soar, conduct with care Thy foaming courser o’er the steepy rock, Or, on the river bank, receive thee safe, Light-bounding o’er the wave, from shore to shore. Be thou our great protector, gracious youth! And if, in future times, some envious prince, Careless of right, and guileful, should invade Thy Britain’s commerce, or should strive, in vain, To wrest the balance from thy equal hand, Thy hunter-train, in cheerful green array’d, A band undaunted, and innured to toils, Shall compass thee around, die at thy feet, Or hew thy passage through the embattled foe, And clear thy way to fame: inspired by thee, The nobler chase of glory shall pursue, Through fire, and smoke, and blood, and fields of death. Nature, in her productions slow, aspires, By just degrees, to reach perfection’s highth: So mimick art works leisurely, till time Improve the piece, or wise experience give The proper finishing. When Nimrod bold, That mighty hunter, first made war on beasts, And stain’d the woodland green with purple dye,

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 39-63.]

New, and unpolish’d, was the huntsman’s art; No stated rule, his wanton will his guide. With clubs and stones, rude implements of war, He arm’d his savage bands, a multitude Untrain’d: of twining osiers form’d, they pitch Their artless toils, then range the desert hills, And scour the plains below: the trembling herd Start at the unusual sound, and clamorous shout, Unheard before; surprised, alas! to find Man now their foe, whom erst they deem’d their lord; But mild, and gentle, and by whom, as yet, Secure they grazed. Death stretches o’er the plain, Wide-wasting, and grim slaughter, red with blood: Urged on by hunger keen, they wound, they kill; Their rage, licentious, knows no bound: at last, Incumber’d with their spoils, joyful they bear, Upon their shoulders broad, the bleeding prey. Part on their altars smokes a sacrifice To that all-gracious Power, whose bounteous hand Supports his wide creation: what remains, On living coals they broil, inelegant Of taste, nor skill’d, as yet, in nicer arts Of pamper’d luxury. Devotion pure, And strong necessity, thus first began The chase of beasts; though bloody was the deed,

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 64-88.]

Yet without guilt: for the green herb, alone, Unequal to sustain man’s labouring race, Now every moving thing that lived on earth, Was granted him for food. So just is Heaven, To give us in proportion to our wants. Or chance, or industry, in after-times, Some few improvements made; but short, as yet, Of due perfection. In this isle, remote, Our painted ancestors were slow to learn, To arms devote, of the politer arts Nor skill’d, nor studious; till, from Neustria’s coasts, Victorious William to more decent rules Subdued our Saxon fathers, taught to speak The proper dialect; with horn and voice To cheer the busy hound, whose well-known cry His listening peers approve with joint acclaim. From him successive huntsmen learn’d to join, In bloody social leagues, the multitude Dispersed, to size, to sort their various tribes, To rear, feed, hunt, and discipline the pack. Hail, happy Britain! highly favour’d isle, And Heaven’s peculiar care; to thee ’tis given To train the sprightly steed, more fleet than those Begot by winds, or the celestial breed That bore the great Pelides through the press

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 89-113.]

Of heroes arm’d, and broke their crowded ranks; Which, proudly neighing, with the sun begins Cheerful his course; and ere his beams decline, Has measured half thy surface unfatigued. In thee alone, fair land of liberty! Is bred the perfect hound, in scent and speed As yet unrivall’d; while in other climes Their virtue fails, a weak degenerate race. In vain malignant steams, and winter fogs, Load the dull air, and hover round our coasts; The huntsman, ever gay, robust, and bold, Defies the noxious vapour, and confides In this delightful exercise, to raise His drooping head, and cheer his heart with joy. Ye vigorous youths, by smiling fortune bless’d With large demesnes, hereditary wealth, Heap’d copious by your wise forefathers’ care, Hear, and attend; while I the means reveal To enjoy those pleasures, for the weak too strong, Too costly for the poor: to rein the steed Swift-stretching o’er the plain, to cheer the pack, Opening in concerts of harmonious joy, But breathing death. What though the gripe severe Of brazen-fisted time, and slow disease Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung,

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 114-138.]

Afflict my shatter’d frame, undaunted still, Fix’d as the mountain ash, that braves the bolts Of angry Jove, though blasted, yet unfall’n; Still can my soul, in fancy’s mirrour, view Deeds glorious once, recall the joyous scene In all its splendours deck’d, o’er the full bowl Recount my triumphs pass’d, urge others on With hand and voice, and point the winding way: Pleased with that social sweet garrulity, The poor disbanded veteran’s sole delight. First, let the kennel be the huntsman’s care; Upon some little eminence erect, And fronting to the ruddy dawn; its courts On either hand wide opening to receive The sun’s all-cheering beams, when mild he shines, And gilds the mountain tops. For much the pack (Roused from their dark alcoves) delight to stretch And bask in his invigorating ray: Warn’d by the streaming light, and merry lark, Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats They carol loud, and, in grand chorus join’d, Salute the new-born day. For not alone The vegetable world, but men and brutes Own his reviving influence, and joy At his approach. Fountain of light! if chance

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 139-163.]

Some envious cloud veil thy refulgent brow, In vain the Muses aid, untouch’d, unstrung, Lies my mute harp, and thy desponding bard Sits darkly musing o’er the unfinish’d lay. Let no Corinthian pillars prop the dome, A vain expense, on charitable deeds Better disposed, to clothe the tatter’d wretch Who shrinks beneath the blast, to feed the poor, Pinch’d 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-pick’d bones, 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 lapp’d 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 O’er greasy fallows, and frequented roads, Can pick the dubious way? Banish far off Each noisome stench, let no offensive smell

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 164-188.]

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, 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 unmoisten’d 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, 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.

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 189-213.]

But here, with watchful and observant eye, Attend their frolicks, which too often end In bloody broils and death. High o’er thy head Wave thy resounding whip, and, with a voice Fierce-menacing, o’er-rule the stern debate, And quench their kindling rage; for oft, in sport Begun, combat ensues; growling they snarl, Then on their haunches rear’d, rampant they seize Each other’s throats, with teeth and claws, in gore Besmear’d, they wound, they tear, till on the ground, Panting, half dead, the conquering champion lies: Then sudden all the base ignoble crowd, 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 fall’n! 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 Concoctive stored, and potent to allay Each vicious ferment. Thus the hand divine Of Providence, beneficent and kind

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 213-236.]

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 frolick pack, attends His master’s side, or slumbers, at his ease, Beneath the bending shade; there, many a ring Runs o’er in dreams; now on the doubtful foil Puzzles perplex’d, or doubles intricate Cautious unfolds; then, wing’d with all his speed, Bounds o’er the lawn to seize his panting prey, And in imperfect whimp’ring speaks his joy. A different hound, for every diff’rent chase, Select with judgment; nor the timorous hare O’ermatch’d destroy, but leave that vile offence To the mean, murd’rous, coursing crew, intent On blood and spoil. Oh blast their hopes, just Heaven! 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

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 237-260.]

Her doleful knell. See there, with countenance blithe, And with a courtly grin, the fawning hound Salutes thee, cowering, his wide opening nose 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, Fleckt here and there, in gay enamell’d pride Rival the speckled pard; his rush-grown tail O’er his broad back bends in ample arch; On shoulders clean, upright and firm he stands; His round cat foot, straight hams, and wide-spread thighs, 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 proportion’d, 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 Gigantick; he in the thick-woven covert Painfully tugs, or in the thorny brake Torn and embarrass’d, bleeds: but if too small, The pigmy brood in every furrow swims;

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 261-285.]

Moil’d in the clogging clay, panting they lag Behind inglorious; or else shivering they creep, Benumb’d and faint, beneath the shelt’ring 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 fix’d standard forms, in equal ranks, His gay battalion, as one man they move, 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 diff’rent kinds; discordant sounds shall grate Thy ears offended, and a lagging line 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 ravish’d ears; the deep-flew’d hound Breed up with care, strong, heavy, slow, but sure,

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 286-310.]

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 kind 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 train’d and skill’d In all the mysteries of theft, the spoil Their only substance, feuds and war their sport: Not more expert in every fraudful art 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 wrong’d Alcides, and avenging Heaven! Veil’d 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, Nor stalls protect the steer, nor strong-barr’d doors

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 311-335.]

Secure the favourite horse. Soon as the morn Reveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan, The plunder’d 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 Flourish’d in air, low-bending plies around His busy nose, the steaming vapour snuffs 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 hills, O’er beaten paths, with men and beasts distain’d, 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,

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 336-360.]

Whence this sagacity, this wond’rous 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? 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, Propell’d, 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 compress’d. The panting chase grows warmer as he flies, 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 their grateful steam; quick pleasures sting Their tingling nerves, while they their thanks repay,

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 361-385.]

And in triumphant melody confess The titillating joy. Thus on the air Depend the hunter’s hopes. When ruddy streaks At eve, forebode a blust’ring 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 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 Employ thy precious hours; the improving friend With open arms embrace, and from his lips Glean science, season’d 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

[Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 386-399.]

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, 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, sauntring youth, proud of the skut That dignifies his cap, his flourish’d belt, And rusty couples gingling by his side. Be thou of other mould; and know, that such Transporting pleasures, were by Heaven ordain’d Wisdom’s relief, and Virtue’s great reward.

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 Asiatick way of hunting, particularly the magnificent manner of the Great Mogul, and other Tartarian princes, taken from Monsieur Bernier, and the History of Gengis Cawn 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 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.

[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 15-38.]

’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

[Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 39-63.]