Part 5

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,

[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 430-454.]

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!

[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 455-478.]

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

[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 479-503.]

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,

[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 504-528.]

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.

[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 529-553.]

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

[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 554-578.]

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

[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 579-602.]

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!

[Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 603-608.]

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.

Argument.

_Of the necessity of destroying some beasts, and preserving others, for the use of man. Of breeding of hounds; the season for this business. The choice of the dog, of great moment. Of the litter of whelps. Of the number to be reared. Of setting them out to their several walks. Care to be taken to prevent their hunting too soon. Of entering the whelps. Of breaking them from running at sheep. Of the diseases of hounds. Of their age. Of madness; two sorts of it described, the dumb, and outrageous madness: its dreadful effects. Burning of the wound recommended, as preventing all ill consequences. The infectious hounds to be separated, and fed apart. The vanity of trusting to the many infallible cures for this malady. The dismal effects of the biting of a mad dog, upon man, described. Description of the otter-hunting. The conclusion._

Whate’er of earth is form’d, to earth returns, Dissolved: the various objects we behold, Plants, animals, this whole material mass, Are ever changing, ever new: the soul Of man alone, that particle divine, Escapes the wreck of worlds, when all things fail. Hence great the distance ’twixt the beasts that perish, And God’s bright image, man’s immortal race. The brute creation are his property, Subservient to his will, and for him made. As hurtful, these he kills; as useful, those Preserves; their sole and arbitrary king. Should he not kill, as erst the Samian sage

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 14-37.]

Taught, unadvised, and Indian Brachmans now As vainly preach, the teeming ravenous brutes Might fill the scanty space of this terrene, Incumbering all the globe. Should not his care Improve his growing stock, their kinds might fail: Man might once more on roots and acorns feed; And through the deserts range, shivering, forlorn, Quite destitute of every solace dear, And every smiling gayety of life. The prudent huntsman, therefore, will supply With annual large recruits, his broken pack, And propagate their kind. As from the root Fresh scions still spring forth, and daily yield New blooming honours to the parent tree. Far shall his pack be famed, far sought his breed; And princes, at their tables, feast those hounds His hand presents, an acceptable boon. Ere yet the sun through the bright ram has urged His steepy course, or mother earth unbound Her frozen bosom to the western gale; When feather’d troops, their social leagues dissolved, Select their mates, and on the leafless elm The noisy rook builds high her wicker nest; Mark well the wanton females of thy pack,

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 38-62.]

That curl their taper tails, and, frisking, court Their piebald mates enamour’d: their red eyes Flash fires impure; nor rest, nor food, they take, Goaded by furious love. In separate cells Confine them now, lest bloody civil wars Annoy thy peaceful state. If left at large, The growling rivals in dread battle join, And rude encounter. On Scamander’s streams, Heroes of old with far less fury fought, For the bright Spartan dame, their valour’s prize. Mangled and torn, thy favourite hounds shall lie, Stretch’d on the ground; thy kennel shall appear A field of blood: like some unhappy town, In civil broils confused, while discord shakes Her bloody scourge aloft, fierce parties rage, Staining their impious hands in mutual death. And still the best beloved, and bravest fall: Such are the dire effects of lawless love. Huntsman! these ills, by timely prudent care, Prevent: for every longing dame select Some happy paramour; to him, alone, In leagues connubial join. Consider well His lineage; what his fathers did of old, Chiefs of the pack, and first to climb the rock, Or plunge into the deep, or thread the brake,

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 63-86.]

With thorns sharp-pointed, plash’d, and briers in-woven. Observe with care, his shape, sort, colour, size. Nor will sagacious huntsmen less regard His inward habits: the vain babbler shun, Ever loquacious, ever in the wrong. His foolish offspring shall offend thy ears With false alarms, and loud impertinence. Nor less the shifting cur avoid, that breaks Illusive from the pack; to the next hedge Devious he strays; there, every meuse he tries; If haply then he cross the steaming scent, Away he flies, vain-glorious; and exults, As of the pack supreme, and in his speed And strength unrivall’d. Lo! cast far behind, His vex’d associates pant, and, labouring, strain To climb the steep ascent. Soon as they reach The insulting boaster, his false courage fails, Behind he lags, doom’d to the fatal noose; His master’s hate, and scorn of all the field. What can from such be hoped, but a base brood Of coward curs, a frantick, vagrant race? When now the third revolving moon appears, With sharpen’d horns, above the horizon’s brink, Without Lucina’s aid, expect thy hopes

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 87-110.]

Are amply crown’d: short pangs produce to light The smoking litter; crawling, helpless, blind, Nature their guide, they seek the pouting teat, That plenteous streams. Soon as the tender dam Has form’d them with her tongue, with pleasure view The marks of their renown’d progenitors; Sure pledge of triumphs yet to come. All these Select with joy; but to the merciless flood Expose the dwindling refuse, nor o’erload The indulgent mother. If thy heart relent, Unwilling to destroy, a nurse provide, And to the foster-parent give the care Of thy superfluous brood: she’ll cherish kind The alien offspring; pleased, thou shalt behold Her tenderness, and hospitable love. If frolick now, and playful, they desert Their gloomy cell, and on the verdant turf, With nerves improved, pursue the mimick chase, Coursing around; unto thy choicest friends Commit thy valued prize. The rustick dames Shall at thy kennel wait, and in their laps Receive thy growing hopes; with many a kiss Caress, and dignify their little charge With some great title, and resounding name

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 111-135.]

Of high import. But, cautious, here observe To check their youthful ardour, nor permit The unexperienced younker, immature, Alone to range the woods, or haunt the brakes, Where dodging conies sport: his nerves unstrung, And strength unequal, the laborious chase Shall stint his growth, and his rash forward youth Contract such vicious habits, as thy care, And late correction, never shall reclaim. When to full strength arrived, mature and bold, Conduct them to the field; not all at once, But as thy cooler prudence shall direct, Select a few, and form them, by degrees, To stricter discipline. With these, consort The stanch and steady sages of the pack, By long experience versed in all the wiles, And subtle doublings, of the various chase. Easy the lesson of the youthful train, When instinct prompts, and when example guides. If the too forward younker, at the head, Press boldly on, in wanton sportive mood, Correct his haste, and let him feel, abash’d, The ruling whip. But if he stoop behind, In wary modest guise, to his own nose Confiding sure, give him full scope to work

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 136-160.]

His winding way, and with thy voice applaud His patience and his care; soon shalt thou view The hopeful pupil leader of his tribe, And all the listening pack attend his call. Oft lead them forth where wanton lambkins play, And bleating dams, with jealous eyes, observe Their tender care. If at the crowding flock He bay presumptuous, or with eager haste Pursue them, scatter’d o’er the verdant plain, In the foul fact attach’d, to the strong ram Tie fast the rash offender. See! at first, His horn’d companion, fearful and amazed, Shall drag him, trembling, o’er the rugged ground, Then with his load fatigued, shall turn a-head, And, with his curl’d hard front, incessant peal The panting wretch; till, breathless and astunn’d, Stretch’d on the turf he lie. Then spare not thou The twining whip, but ply his bleeding sides, Lash after lash; and with thy threatening voice, Harsh echoing from the hills, inculcate loud His vile offence. Sooner shall trembling doves, Escaped the hawk’s sharp talons, in mid air, Assail their dangerous foe, than he once more Disturb the peaceful flocks. In tender age, Thus youth is train’d; as curious artists bend

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 161-184.]

The taper pliant twig, or potters form Their soft and ductile clay to various shapes. Nor is’t enough to breed, but to preserve Must be the huntsman’s care. The stanch old hounds, Guides of thy pack, though but in number few, Are yet of great account; shall oft untie The Gordian knot, when reason at a stand, Puzzling, is lost, and all thy art is vain. O’er clogging fallows, o’er dry plaster’d roads, O’er floated meads, o’er plains with flocks distain’d, Rank scenting, these must lead the dubious way. As party chiefs, in senates who preside, With pleaded reason, and with well-turn’d speech, Conduct the staring multitude; so these Direct the pack, who with joint cry approve, And loudly boast discoveries not their own. Unnumber’d accidents, and various ills, Attend thy pack, hang hovering o’er their heads, And point the way that leads to death’s dark cave. Short is their span; few at the date arrive Of ancient Argus, in old Homer’s song So highly honour’d: kind, sagacious brute! Not even Minerva’s wisdom could conceal Thy much-loved master, from thy nicer sense.

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 185-209.]

Dying, his lord he own’d; view’d him all o’er With eager eyes, then closed those eyes, well pleased. Of lesser ills the Muse declines to sing, Nor stoops so low; of these, each groom can tell The proper remedy. But oh! what care, What prudence, can prevent madness, the worst Of maladies? Terrifick pest! that blasts The huntsman’s hopes, and desolation spreads Through all the unpeopled kennel, unrestrain’d; More fatal than the envenom’d viper’s bite, Or that Apulian spider’s poisonous sting, Heal’d by the pleasing antidote of sounds. When Sirius reigns, and the sun’s parching beams Bake the dry gaping surface, visit thou Each even and morn, with quick observant eye, Thy panting pack. If, in dark sullen mood, The glouting hound refuse his wonted meal, Retiring to some close obscure retreat, Gloomy, disconsolate; with speed remove The poor infectious wretch, and in strong chains Bind him, suspected. Thus that dire disease, Which art can’t cure, wise caution may prevent. But, this neglected, soon expect a change, A dismal change, confusion, frenzy, death! Or, in some dark recess, the senseless brute

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 210-234.]

Sits, sadly pining; deep melancholy, And black despair, upon his clouded brow Hang lowering; from his half-opening jaws, The clammy venom, and infectious froth, Distilling fall; and from his lungs, inflamed, Malignant vapours taint the ambient air, Breathing perdition; his dim eyes are glazed, He droops his pensive head; his trembling limbs No more support his weight; abject he lies, Dumb, spiritless, benumb’d; till death, at last, Gracious attends, and kindly brings relief. Or, if outrageous grown, behold, alas! A yet more dreadful scene; his glaring eyes Redden with fury; like some angry boar, Churning, he foams, and, on his back, erect His pointed bristles rise; his tail incurved He drops; and, with harsh broken howlings, rends The poison-tainted air; with rough hoarse voice Incessant bays, and snuffs the infectious breeze; This way and that he stares, aghast, and starts At his own shade; jealous, as if he deem’d The world his foes. If haply toward the stream He cast his roving eye, cold horrour chills His soul; averse, he flies, trembling, appall’d: Now frantick, to the kennel’s utmost verge,

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 235-259.]