Part 6

Raving, he runs, and deals destruction round. The pack fly diverse; for whate’er he meets, Vengeful, he bites, and every bite is death. If now, perchance, through the weak fence escaped, Far up the wind he roves, with open mouth Inhales the cooling breeze, nor man, nor beast, He spares, implacable. The hunter-horse, Once kind associate of his sylvan toils, Who haply, now, without the kennel’s mound, Crops the rank mead, and, listening, hears with joy The cheering cry, that morn and eve salutes His raptured sense, a wretched victim falls. Unhappy quadruped! no more, alas! Shall thy fond master with his voice applaud Thy gentleness, thy speed; or with his hand Stroke thy soft dappled sides, as he each day Visits thy stall, well pleased: no more shalt thou With sprightly neighings, to the winding horn And the loud-opening pack, in concert join’d, Glad his proud heart; for, oh! the secret wound, Rankling, inflames; he bites the ground, and dies. Hence to the village, with pernicious haste, Baleful, he bends his course: the village flies, Alarm’d; the tender mother, in her arms, Hugs close the trembling babe; the doors are barr’d;

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 260-282.]

And flying curs, by native instinct taught, Shun the contagious bane; the rustick bands Hurry to arms, the rude militia seize Whate’er at hand they find; clubs, forks, or guns, From every quarter charge the furious foe, In wild disorder and uncouth array; Till now, with wounds on wounds, oppress’d and gored, At one short poisonous gasp he breathes his last. Hence, to the kennel, Muse, return, and view, With heavy heart, that hospital of woe, Where horrour stalks at large! insatiate death Sits growling o’er his prey; each hour presents A different scene of ruin and distress. How busy art thou, fate! and how severe Thy pointed wrath! the dying and the dead Promiscuous lie; o’er these, the living fight In one eternal broil; not conscious why, Nor yet with whom. So drunkards, in their cups, Spare not their friends, while senseless squabble reigns. Huntsman! it much behoves thee to avoid The perilous debate. Ah! rouse up all Thy vigilance, and tread the treacherous ground With careful step. Thy fires unquench’d preserve,

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 283-307.]

As erst the vestal flame; the pointed steel In the hot embers hide; and if, surprised, Thou feel’st the deadly bite, quick urge it home Into the recent sore, and cauterize The wound: spare not thy flesh, nor dread the event; Vulcan shall save, when Æsculapius fails. Here, should the knowing Muse recount the means To stop this growing plague. And here, alas! Each hand presents a sovereign cure, and boasts Infallibility, but boasts in vain. On this depend; each to his separate seat Confine, in fetters bound; give each his mess Apart, his range in open air; and then, If deadly symptoms, to thy grief, appear, Devote the wretch; and let him greatly fall, A generous victim for the public weal. Sing, philosophick Muse, the dire effects Of this contagious bite on hapless man! The rustick swains, by long tradition taught, Of leeches old, as soon as they perceive The bite impress’d, to the sea-coasts repair. Plunged in the briny flood, the unhappy youth Now journeys home, secure; but soon shall wish The seas, as yet, had cover’d him beneath The foaming surge, full many a fathom deep.

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 308-332.]

A fate more dismal, and superiour ills, Hang o’er his head devoted. When the moon, Closing her monthly round, returns again To glad the night, or when, full-orb’d, she shines High in the vault of heaven, the lurking pest Begins the dire assault. The poisonous foam, Through the deep wound instill’d, with hostile rage, And all its fiery particles, saline, Invades the arterial fluid; whose red waves Tempestuous heave, and, their cohesion broke, Fermenting boil; intestine war ensues, And order to confusion turns, embroil’d. Now the distended vessels scarce contain The wild uproar, but press each weaker part, Unable to resist: the tender brain And stomach suffer most; convulsions shake His trembling nerves, and wandering pungent pains Pinch sore the sleepless wretch; his fluttering pulse Oft intermits; pensive and sad, he mourns His cruel fate, and to his weeping friends Laments in vain: to hasty anger prone, Resents each slight offence, walks with quick step, And wildly stares: at last, with boundless sway, The tyrant frenzy reigns; for, as the dog, Whose fatal bite convey’d the infectious bane,

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 333-356.]

Raving, he foams, and howls, and barks, and bites! Like agitations in his boiling blood, Present like species to his troubled mind; His nature, and his actions, all canine. So, as old Homer sung, the associates wild Of wandering Ithacus, by Circe’s charms To swine transformed, ran gruntling through the groves, Dreadful example to a wicked world! See, there distress’d he lies! parch’d up with thirst, But dares not drink; till now, at last, his soul Trembling escapes, her noisome dungeon leaves, And to some purer region wings away. One labour yet remains, celestial Maid! Another element demands thy song. No more o’er craggy steeps, through coverts thick With pointed thorn, and briers intricate, Urge on, with horn and voice, the painful pack; But skim, with wanton wing, the irriguous vale, Where winding streams, amid the flowery meads, Perpetual glide along, and undermine The cavern’d banks, by the tenacious roots Of hoary willows arch’d; gloomy retreat Of the bright scaly kind; where they, at will, On the green watery reed, their pasture, graze,

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 357-381.]

Suck the moist soil, or slumber at their ease, Rock’d by the restless brook, that draws aslope Its humid train, and laves their dark abodes. Where rages not oppression? where, alas, Is innocence secure? Rapine and spoil Haunt even the lowest deeps; seas have their sharks; Rivers and ponds inclose the ravenous pike; He, in his turn, becomes a prey; on him The amphibious otter feasts. Just is his fate, Deserved; but tyrants know no bounds: nor spears That bristle on his back, defend the perch From his wide greedy jaws; nor burnish’d mail The yellow carp; nor all his arts can save The insinuating eel, that hides his head Beneath the slimy mud; nor yet escapes The crimson-spotted trout, the river’s pride, And beauty of the stream. Without remorse, This midnight pillager, ranging around, Insatiate, swallows all. The owner mourns The unpeopled rivulet, and gladly hears The huntsman’s early call, and sees with joy The jovial crew, that march upon its banks In gay parade, with bearded lances arm’d. This subtle spoiler of the beaver kind, Far off perhaps, where ancient alders shade

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 382-406.]

The deep still pool, within some hollow trunk Contrives his wicker couch; whence he surveys His long purlieu, lord of the stream, and all The finny shoals his own. But you, brave youths, Dispute the felon’s claim; try every root, And every reedy bank; encourage all The busy spreading pack, that fearless plunge Into the flood, and cross the rapid stream. Bid rocks and caves, and each resounding shore, Proclaim your bold defiance; loudly raise Each cheering voice, till distant hills repeat The triumphs of the vale. On the soft sand, See there, his seal impress’d; and, on that bank, Behold the glittering spoils, half-eaten fish, Scales, fins, and bones, the leavings of his feast. Ah! on that yielding sag-bed, see, once more His seal I view. O’er yon dank rushy marsh The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course, And seeks the distant shallows. Huntsman! bring Thy eager pack, and trail him to his couch. Hark! the loud peal begins; the clamorous joy, The gallant chiding, loads the trembling air. Ye Naiads fair, who o’er these floods preside, Raise up your dripping heads above the wave, And hear our melody. The harmonious notes

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 407-431.]

Float with the stream; and every winding creek, And hollow rock, that o’er the dimpling flood Nods pendent, still improve, from shore to shore, Our sweet reiterated joys. What shouts! What clamour loud! What gay, heart-cheering sounds Urge, through the breathing brass their mazy way! Not choirs of Tritons glad, with sprightlier strains, The dancing billows, when proud Neptune rides In triumph o’er the deep. How greedily They snuff the fishy steam, that to each blade, Rank-scenting, clings! See! how the morning dews They sweep, that from their feet, besprinkling, drop, Dispersed, and leave a track oblique behind. Now on firm land they range; then in the flood They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools, Rustling, they work their way: no holt escapes Their curious search. With quick sensation now The fuming vapour stings, flutters their hearts, And joy, redoubled, bursts from every mouth, In louder symphonies. Yon hollow trunk, That, with its hoary head incurved, salutes The passing wave, must be the tyrant’s fort, And dread abode. How these impatient climb, While others, at the root, incessant bay: They put him down. See, there he dives along!

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 432-456.]

The ascending bubbles mark his gloomy way. Quick fix the nets, and cut off his retreat Into the sheltering deeps. Ah, there he vents! The pack plunge headlong, and protended spears Menace destruction: while the troubled surge Indignant foams, and all the scaly kind, Affrighted, hide their heads. Wild tumult reigns, And loud uproar. Ah, there once more he vents! See, that bold hound has seized him; down they sink Together, lost: but soon shall he repent His rash assault. See, there escaped, he flies, Half-drown’d, and clambers up the slippery bank, With ooze and blood distain’d. Of all the brutes, Whether by nature formed, or by long use, This artful diver best can bear the want Of vital air. Unequal is the fight, Beneath the whelming element. Yet there He lives not long; but respiration needs, At proper intervals: again he vents; Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierced His neck; the crimson waves confess the wound. Fix’d is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest, Where’er he flies; with him it sinks beneath, With him it mounts; sure guide to every foe. Inly he groans; nor can his tender wound

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 457-480.]

Bear the cold stream. Lo! to yon sedgy bank He creeps, disconsolate: his numerous foes Surround him, hounds, and men. Pierced through and through, On pointed spears they lift him high in air; Wriggling, he hangs, and grins, and bites in vain. Bid the loud horns, in gaily-warbling strains, Proclaim the felon’s fate; he dies, he dies! Rejoice, ye scaly tribes; and, leaping, dance Above the wave, in sign of liberty Restored: the cruel tyrant is no more. Rejoice, secure and bless’d; did not as yet Remain, some of your own rapacious kind; And man, fierce man, with all his various wiles. O happy, if ye knew your happy state, Ye rangers of the fields! whom nature boon Cheers with her smiles, and every element Conspires to bless. What, if no heroes frown From marble pedestals; nor Raphael’s works, Nor Titian’s lively tints, adorn our walls? Yet these the meanest of us may behold; And, at another’s cost, may feast at will Our wondering eyes; what can the owner more? But vain, alas! is wealth, not graced with power. The flowery landscape, and the gilded dome,

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 481-505.]

And vistas opening to the wearied eye, Through all his wide domain; the planted grove, The shrubby wilderness, with its gay choir Of warbling birds, can’t lull to soft repose The ambitious wretch, whose discontented soul Is harrow’d day and night; he mourns, he pines, Until his prince’s favour makes him great. See there he comes, the exalted idol comes! The circle’s form’d, and all his fawning slaves Devoutly bow to earth; from every mouth The nauseous flattery flows, which he returns With promises, that die as soon as born. Vile intercourse! where virtue has no place. Frown but the monarch, all his glories fade; He mingles with the throng, outcast, undone, The pageant of a day; without one friend To sooth his tortured mind; all, all are fled. For though they bask’d in his meridian ray, The insects vanish, as his beams decline. Not such our friends; for here no dark design, No wicked interest, bribes the venal heart; But inclination to our bosom leads, And weds them there for life; our social cups Smile, as we smile; open, and unreserved. We speak our inmost souls; good humour, mirth,

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 506-530.]

Soft complaisance, and wit from malice free, Smooth every brow, and glow on every cheek. O happiness sincere! what wretch would groan Beneath the galling load of power, or walk Upon the slippery pavements of the great, Who thus could reign, unenvied and secure? Ye guardian powers, who make mankind your care, Give me to know wise nature’s hidden depths, Trace each mysterious cause, with judgment read The expanded volume, and, submiss, adore That great creative will, who, at a word, Spoke forth the wonderous scene. But if my soul To this gross clay confined, flutters on earth With less ambitious wing; unskill’d to range From orb to orb, where Newton leads the way; And, view with piercing eyes, the grand machine; Worlds above worlds, subservient to his voice; Who, veil’d in clouded majesty, alone Gives light to all; bids the great system move, And changeful seasons, in their turns, advance, Unmoved, unchanged himself: yet this, at least, Grant me propitious, an inglorious life, Calm and serene, nor lost in false pursuits Of wealth or honours; but enough to raise My drooping friends, preventing modest want

[Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 531-536.]

That dares not ask. And if, to crown my joys, Ye grant me health, that, ruddy in my cheeks, Blooms in my life’s decline; fields, woods, and streams, Each towering hill, each humble vale below, Shall hear my cheering voice; my hounds shall wake The lazy morn, and glad the horizon round.

Printed by W. Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-row, St. James’s.