Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/173

 Slunk from the cavern, and the troubled wood, See the grim wolf; on him his fhaggy foe Vindictive fix, and let the ruffian die: Or, growling horrid, as the brindled boar Grins fell destruction, to the monster's heart Let the dart lighten from the nervous arm.

knows not; give, ye, then Your sportive fury, pityless, to pour Loose on the nightly robber of the fold: Him, from his craggy winding haunts unearth'd, Let all the thunder of of [sic] the chace pursue. Throw the broad ditch behind you; o'er the hedge High-bound, resistless; nor the deep morass Refuse, but thro' the shaking wilderness Pick your nice way; into the perilous flood Bear fearless, of the raging instinct full; And as you ride the torrent, to the banks Your triumph sound sonorous, running round, From rock to rock, in circling echos tost; Then scale the mountains to their woody tops; Rush down the dangerous steep; and o'er the lawn, In fancy swallowing up the space between, Pour all your speed into the rapid game. For happy he! who tops the wheeling chace; Has every maze evolv'd, and every guile Disclos'd; who knows the merits of the pack, Who saw the villain seiz'd, and dying hard, Without complaint, tho' by an hundred mouths Relentless torn: o glorious he, beyond His daring peers! when the retreating horn Calls them to ghostly halls of grey renown, With woodland honours grac'd; the fox's fur, Depending decent from the roof; and spread Round the drear walls, with antick figures fierce, The