Conversing with your sprightly boys,
Your eyes have spoke the mother's joys.
With what delight I've heard you quote
Their sayings in imperfect note!
I grant, in body and in mind,
Nature appears profusely kind.
Trust not to that. Act you your part;
Imprint just morals on their heart,
Impartially their talents scan:
Just education forms the man.
_10
Perhaps (their genius yet unknown)
Each lot of life's already thrown;
That this shall plead, the next shall fight,
The last assert the church's right.
I censure not the fond intent;
But how precarious is the event!
By talents misapplied and cross'd,
Consider, all your sons are lost.
One day (the tale's by Martial penned)
A father thus addressed his friend:
_20
'To train my boy, and call forth sense,
You know I've stuck at no expense;
I've tried him in the several arts,
(The lad no doubt hath latent parts,)
Yet trying all, he nothing knows;
But, crab-like, rather backward goes.
Teach me what yet remains undone;
'Tis your advice shall fix my son.'
'Sir,' says the friend, 'I've weighed the matter;
Excuse me, for I scorn to flatter:
_30
Make him (nor think his genius checked)
A herald or an architect.'
Perhaps (as commonly 'tis known)
He heard the advice, and took his own.
The boy wants wit; he's sent to school,
Where learning but improves the fool:
The college next must give him parts,
And cram him with the liberal arts.
Whether he blunders at the bar,
Or owes his infamy to war;
_40
Or if by licence or degree
The sexton shares the doctor's fee:
Or from the pulpit by the hour
He weekly floods of nonsense pour;
We find (the intent of nature foiled)
A tailor or a butcher spoiled.
Thus ministers have royal boons
Conferred on blockheads and buffoons:
In spite of nature, merit, wit,
Their friends for every post were fit.
_50
But now let every Muse confess
That merit finds its due success.
The examples of our days regard;
Where's virtue seen without reward?
Distinguished and in place you find
Desert and worth of every kind.
Survey the reverend bench, and see,
Religion, learning, piety:
The patron, ere he recommends,
Sees his own image in his friends.
_60
Is honesty disgraced and poor?
What is't to us what was before?
We all of times corrupt have heard,
When paltry minions were preferred;
When all great offices by dozens,
Were filled by brothers, sons, and cousins.
What matter ignorance and pride?
The man was happily allied.
Provided that his clerk was good,
What though he nothing understood?
_70
In church and state, the sorry race
Grew more conspicuous fools in place.
Such heads, as then a treaty made,
Had bungled in the cobbler's trade.
Consider, patrons, that such elves,
Expose your folly with themselves.
'Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care,
To fix each genius in its sphere.
Your partial hand can wealth dispense,
But never give a blockhead sense.
_80
An owl of magisterial air,
Of solemn voice, of brow austere,
Assumed the pride of human race,
And bore his wisdom in his face;
Not to depreciate learned eyes,
I've seen a pedant look as wise.
Within a barn, from noise retired,
He scorned the world, himself admired;
And, like an ancient sage, concealed
The follies public life revealed.
_90
Philosophers of old, he read,
Their country's youth to science bred,
Their manners formed for every station,
And destined each his occupation.
When Xenophon, by numbers braved,
Retreated, and a people saved,
That laurel was not all his own;
The plant by Socrates was sown;
To Aristotle's greater name
The Macedonian[10] owed his fame.
_100
The Athenian bird, with pride replete,
Their talents equalled in conceit;
And, copying the Socratic rule,
Set up for master of a school.
Dogmatic jargon learnt by heart,
Trite sentences, hard terms of art,
To vulgar ears seemed so profound,
They fancied learning in the sound.
The school had fame: the crowded place
With pupils swarmed of every race.
_110
With these the swan's maternal care
Had sent her scarce-fledged cygnet heir:
The hen (though fond and loath to part)
Here lodged the darling of her heart:
The spider, of mechanic kind,
Aspired to science more refined:
The ass learnt metaphors and tropes,
But most on music fixed his hopes.
The pupils now advanced in age,
Were called to tread life's busy stage.
_120
And to the master 'twas submitted,
That each might to his part be fitted.
'The swan,' says he, 'in arms shall shine:
The soldier's glorious toil be thine.
The cock shall mighty wealth attain:
Go, seek it on the stormy main.
The Court shall be the spider's sphere:
Power, fortune, shall reward him there.
In music's art the ass's fame
Shall emulate Corelli's[1] name.
_130
Each took the part that he advised,
And all were equally despised;
A farmer, at his folly moved,
The dull preceptor thus reproved:
'Blockhead,' says he, 'by what you've done,
One would have thought 'em each your son:
For parents, to their offspring blind,
Consult, nor parts, nor turn of mind;
But even in infancy decree
What this, what t'other son should be.
_140
Had you with judgment weighed the case,
Their genius thus had fixed their place:
The swan had learnt the sailor's art;
The cock had played the soldier's part;
The spider in the weaver's trade
With credit had a fortune made;
But for the fool, in every class
The blockhead had appeared an ass.'
* * * * *
FABLE XV.
THE COOK-MAID, THE TURNSPIT, AND THE OX.
TO A POOR MAN.
Consider man in every sphere,
Then tell me is your lot severe?
'Tis murmur, discontent, distrust,
That makes you wretched. God is just.
I grant, that hunger must be fed,
That toil too earns thy daily bread.
What then? Thy wants are seen and known,
But every mortal feels his own.
We're born a restless, needy crew:
Show me the happier man than you.
_10
Adam, though blest above his kind,
For want of social woman pined,
Eve's wants the subtle serpent saw,
Her fickle taste transgressed the law:
Thus fell our sires; and their disgrace
The curse entailed on human race.
When Philip's son, by glory led,
Had o'er the globe his empire spread;
When altars to his name were dressed,
That he was man, his tears confessed.
_20
The hopes of avarice are check'd:
The proud man always wants respect.
What various wants on power attend!
Ambition never gains its end.
Who hath not heard the rich complain
Of surfeits and corporeal pain?
He, barred from every use of wealth,
Envies the ploughman's strength and health.
Another in a beauteous wife
Finds all the miseries of life:
_30
Domestic jars and jealous fear
Embitter all his days with care.
This wants an heir, the line is lost:
Why was that vain entail engross'd?
Canst thou discern another's mind?
Why is't you envy? Envy's blind.
Tell Envy, when she would annoy,
That thousands want what you enjoy.
'The dinner must be dished at one.
Where's this vexatious turnspit gone?
_40
Unless the skulking cur is caught,
The sirloin's spoiled, and I'm in fault.'
Thus said: (for sure you'll think it fit
That I the cook-maid's oaths omit)
With all the fury of a cook,
Her cooler kitchen Nan forsook.
The broomstick o'er her head she waves;
She sweats, she stamps, she puffs, she raves.
The sneaking cur before her flies:
She whistles, calls; fair speech she tries.
_50
These nought avail. Her choler burns;
The fist and cudgel threat by turns;
With hasty stride she presses near;
He slinks aloof, and howls with fear.
'Was ever cur so cursed!' he cried,
'What star did at my birth preside?
Am I for life by compact bound
To tread the wheel's eternal round?
Inglorious task! Of all our race
No slave is half so mean and base.
_60
Had fate a kinder lot assigned,
And formed me of the lap-dog kind,
I then, in higher life employed,
Had indolence and ease enjoyed;
And, like a gentleman, caress'd,
Had been the lady's favourite guest.
Or were I sprung from spaniel line,
Was his sagacious nostril mine,
By me, their never-erring guide,
From wood and plain their feasts supplied
_70
Knights, squires, attendant on my pace,
Had shared the pleasures of the chase.
Endued with native strength and fire,
Why called I not the lion sire?
A lion! such mean views I scorn.
Why was I not of woman born?
Who dares with reason's power contend?
On man we brutal slaves depend:
To him all creatures tribute pays,
And luxury employs his days.'
_80
An ox by chance o'erheard his moan,
And thus rebuked the lazy drone:
'Dare you at partial fate repine?
How kind's your lot compared with mine!
Decreed to toil, the barbarous knife
Hath severed me from social life;
Urged by the stimulating goad,
I drag the cumbrous waggon's load:
'Tis mine to tame the stubborn plain,
Break the stiff soil, and house the grain;
_90
Yet I without a murmur bear
The various labours of the year.
But then consider, that one day,
(Perhaps the hour's not far away,)
You, by the duties of your post,
Shall turn the spit when I'm the roast:
And for reward shall share the feast;
I mean, shall pick my bones at least.'
''Till now,' the astonished cur replies,
'I looked on all with envious eyes.
_100
How false we judge by what appears!
All creatures feel their several cares.
If thus yon mighty beast complains,
Perhaps man knows superior pains.
Let envy then no more torment:
Think on the ox, and learn content.'
Thus said: close following at her heel,
With cheerful heart he mounts the wheel.
FABLE XVI.
THE RAVENS, THE SEXTON, AND THE EARTH-WORM.
TO LAURA.
Laura, methinks you're over nice.
True, flattery is a shocking vice;
Yet sure, whene'er the praise is just,
One may commend without disgust.
Am I a privilege denied,
Indulged by every tongue beside?
How singular are all your ways!
A woman, and averse to praise!
If 'tis offence such truths to tell,
Why do your merits thus excel?
_10
Since then I dare not speak my mind,
A truth conspicuous to mankind;
Though in full lustre every grace
Distinguish your celestial face:
Though beauties of inferior ray
(Like stars before the orb of day)
Turn pale and fade: I check my lays,
Admiring what I dare not praise.
If you the tribute due disdain,
The Muse's mortifying strain
_20
Shall like a woman in mere spite,
Set beauty in a moral light.
Though such revenge might shock the ear
Of many a celebrated fair;
I mean that superficial race
Whose thoughts ne'er reach beyond their face;
What's that to you? I but displease
Such ever-girlish ears as these.
Virtue can brook the thoughts of age,
That lasts the same through every stage.
_30
Though you by time must suffer more
Than ever woman lost before;
To age is such indifference shown,
As if your face were not your own.
Were you by Antoninus[1] taught?
Or is it native strength of thought,
That thus, without concern or fright,
You view yourself by reason's light?
Those eyes of so divine a ray,
What are they? Mouldering, mortal clay.
_40
Those features, cast in heavenly mould,
Shall, like my coarser earth, grow old;
Like common grass, the fairest flower
Must feel the hoary season's power.
How weak, how vain is human pride!
Dares man upon himself confide?
The wretch who glories in his gain,
Amasses heaps on heaps in vain.
Why lose we life in anxious cares,
To lay in hoards for future years?
_50
Can those (when tortured by disease)
Cheer our sick heart, or purchase ease?
Can those prolong one gasp of breath,
Or calm the troubled hour of death?
What's beauty? Call ye that your own?
A flower that fades as soon as blown.
What's man in all his boast of sway?
Perhaps the tyrant of a day.
Alike the laws of life take place
Through every branch of human race,
_60
The monarch of long regal line
Was raised from dust as frail as mine.
Can he pour health into his veins,
Or cool the fever's restless pains?
Can he (worn down in Nature's course)
New-brace his feeble nerves with force?
Can he (how vain is mortal power!)
Stretch life beyond the destined hour?
Consider, man; weigh well thy frame;
The king, the beggar is the same.
_70
Dust forms us all. Each breathes his day,
Then sinks into his native clay.
Beneath a venerable yew,
That in the lonely church-yard grew,
Two ravens sat. In solemn croak
Thus one his hungry friend bespoke:
'Methinks I scent some rich repast;
The savour strengthens with the blast;
Snuff then, the promised feast inhale;
I taste the carcase in the gale;
_80
Near yonder trees, the farmer's steed,
From toil and daily drudgery freed,
Hath groaned his last. A dainty treat!
To birds of taste delicious meat.'
A sexton, busy at his trade,
To hear their chat suspends his spade.
Death struck him with no further thought,
Than merely as the fees he brought.
'Was ever two such blundering fowls,
In brains and manners less than owls!
_90
Blockheads,' says he, 'learn more respect;
Know ye on whom ye thus reflect?
In this same grave (who does me right,
Must own the work is strong and tight)
The squire that yon fair hall possessed,
Tonight shall lay his bones at rest.
Whence could the gross mistake proceed?
The squire was somewhat fat indeed.
What then? The meanest bird of prey
Such want of sense could ne'er betray;
_100
For sure some difference must be found
(Suppose the smelling organ sound)
In carcases (say what we can)
Or where's the dignity of man?'
With due respect to human race,
The ravens undertook the case.
In such similitude of scent,
Man ne'er eould think reflections meant.
As epicures extol a treat,
And seem their savoury words to eat,
_110
They praised dead horse, luxurious food,
The venison of the prescient brood.
The sexton's indignation moved,
The mean comparison reproved;
The undiscerning palate blamed,
Which two-legged carrion thus defamed.
Reproachful speech from either side
The want of argument supplied:
They rail, revile: as often ends
The contest of disputing friends.
_120
'Hold,' says the fowl; 'since human pride
With confutation ne'er complied,
Let's state the case, and then refer
The knotty point: for taste may err.'
As thus he spoke, from out the mould
An earth-worm, huge of size, unrolled
His monstrous length. They straight agree
To choose him as their referee.
So to the experience of his jaws,
Each states the merits of his cause.
_130
He paused, and with a solemn tone,
Thus made his sage opinion known:
'On carcases of every kind
This maw hath elegantly dined;
Provoked by luxury or need,
On beast, on fowl, on man, I feed;
Such small distinctions in the savour,
By turns I choose the fancied flavour,
Yet I must own (that human beast)
A glutton is the rankest feast.
_140
Man, cease this boast; for human pride
Hath various tracts to range beside.
The prince who kept the world in awe,
The judge whose dictate fixed the law,
The rich, the poor, the great, the small,
Are levelled. Death confounds them all.
Then think not that we reptiles share
Such cates, such elegance of fair:
The only true and real good
Of man was never vermin's food.
_150
'Tis seated in the immortal mind;
Virtue distinguishes mankind,
And that (as yet ne'er harboured here)
Mounts with his soul we know not where.
So, good man sexton, since the case
Appears with such a dubious face,
To neither I the cause determine,
For different tastes please different vermin.'
END OF GAY'S FABLES.
SONGS.
SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN.
1
All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eye'd Susan came aboard.
Oh! where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among the crew.
2
William, who high upon the yard
Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below;
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands.
3
So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
(If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,)
And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
4
O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
5
Believe not what the landmen say,
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind.
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
In every port a mistress find:
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
6
If to fair India's coast we sail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
7
Though battle call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,
William shall to his dear return.
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
8
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard:
They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head.
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land:
Adieu! she cries; and waved her lily hand.
* * * * *
A BALLAD,
FROM THE WHAT-D'YE-CALL-IT.
1
'Twas when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind;
A damsel lay deploring,
All on a rock reclined.
Wide o'er the foaming billows
She casts a wistful look;
Her head was crown'd with willows,
That trembled o'er the brook.
2
Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days.
Why didst thou, venturous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest:
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?
3
The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
Sees tempests in despair:
But what's the loss of treasure,
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on,
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden,
But none that loves you so.
4
How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain;
Why then beneath the water
Should hideous rocks remain?
No eyes the rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep.
5
All melancholy lying,
Thus wail'd she for her dear;
Repaid each blast with sighing,
Each billow with a tear;
When o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spied;
Then, like a lily drooping,
She bow'd her head, and died.
END OF GAY'S SONGS.
Footnotes:
[Footnote 1: Second son of George II.; born in 1721; he was five years old at the date of the publication of the 'Fables,' which were written for his instruction. He is 'Culloden' Cumberland.]
[Footnote 2: 'Siam,' a country famous for elephants.]
[Footnote 3: 'Gresham Hall,' originally the house of Sir Thomas Gresham in Winchester. It was converted by his will into a college, no remains of which now exist.]
[Footnote 4: 'Curl,' a famous publisher to Grub Street.]
[Footnote 5: Garth's Dispensary.]
[Footnote 6: 'Porta:' a native of Naples, famous for skill in the occult sciences. He wrote a book on Physiognomy, seeking to trace in the human face resemblances to animals, and to infer similar correspondences in mind.]
[Footnote 7: '——When impious men bear sway,
The post of honour is a private station.'-ADDISON.]
[Footnote 8: 'Antiochus': See Plutarch.]
[Footnote 9: Barrow.]
[Footnote 10: 'The Macedonian:' Alexander the Great.]
[Footnote 11: 'Corelli:' Arcangelo, the greatest fiddler, till Paganini, that has appeared. He was born in the territory of Bologna, in 1653, and died in 1713.]
[Footnote 12: 'Antoninus:' Marcus, one of the few emperors who have been also philosophers.]
THE
LIFE OF WILLIAM SOMERVILLE.
* * * * *
There is a chapter in an old history of Iceland which has often moved merriment. The title of it is, "Concerning Snakes in Iceland," and the contents are, "Snakes in Iceland there are none." We suspect, when our "Life of William Somerville" is ended, not a few will find in it a parallel for that comprehensive chapter, although we strenuously maintain that the fault of an insipid and uninteresting life is not always to be charged on the biographer.
In "Sartor Resartus" our readers remember an epitaph, somewhat coarse, although disguised in good dog-Latin, upon a country squire, and his sayings and doings in this world. We have not a copy of that work at hand, and cannot quote the epitaph, nor would we, though we could, since even the dog-Latin is too plain and perspicuous for many readers. We recommend those, however, who choose to turn it up; and they will find in it (with the exception of the writing of "the Chase") the full history of William Somerville, of whom we know little, but that he was born, that he hunted, ate, drank, and died.
He was born in 1682; but in what month, or on what day, we are not informed. His estate was in Warwickshire, its name Edston, and he had inherited it from a long line of ancestors. His family prided itself upon being the first family in the county. He himself boasts of having been born on the banks of Avon, which has thus at least produced two poets, of somewhat different calibre indeed—the one a deer-stealer, and the other a fox-hunter—Shakspeare and Somerville. Somerville was educated at Winchester School, and was afterwards elected fellow of New College. From his studies—of his success in which we know nothing—he returned to his native county, and there, says Johnson, "was distinguished as a poet, a gentleman, and a skilful and useful justice of the peace;"—we may add, as a jovial companion and a daring fox-hunter. His estate brought him in about £1500 a-year, but his extravagance brought him into pecuniary distresses, which weighed upon his mind, plunged him into intemperate habits, and hurried him away in his 60th year. Shenstone, who knew him well, thus mourns aver his departure in one of his letters:—"Our old friend Somerville is dead; I did not imagine I could have been so sorry as I find myself on this occasion. Sublatum quoerimus, I can now excuse all his foibles; impute them to age and to distressed circumstances. The last of these considerations wrings my very soul to think on; for a man of high spirit, conscious of having (at least in one production) generally pleased the world, to be plagued and threatened by wretches that are low in every sense; to be forced to drink himself into pains of the body in order to get rid of the pains of the mind, is a misery."
Somerville died July 19, 1742, and was buried at Wotton, near Henley-on-Arden. His estate went to Lord Somerville in Scotland, but his mother, who lived to a great age, had a jointure of £600. He describes himself, in verses addressed to Allan Ramsay, as
"A squire, well-born and six feet high."
He seems, from the affection and sympathy discovered for him by Shenstone, to have possessed the virtues as well as the vices of the squirearchy of that age; their frankness, sociality, and heart, as well as their improvidence and tendency to excess; and may altogether be called a sublimated Squire Western.
As to his poetry, much of it is beneath criticism. His "Fables," "Tales," "Hobbinol, or Rural Games," &c., have all in them poetical lines, but cannot, as a whole, be called poetry. He wrote some verses, entitled "Address to Addison," on the latter purchasing an estate in Warwickshire (he gave his Countess £4000 in exchange for it). In this there are two lines which Dr Johnson highly commends, saying "They are written with the most exquisite delicacy of praise; they exhibit one of those happy strokes that are seldom attained."—Here is this bepraised couplet:—
"When panting virtue her last efforts made,
You brought your Clio to the virgin's aid."
Clio, of course, refers to Addison's signatures in the "Spectator," consisting of the four letters composing the name of the Muse of History, used in alternation. We cannot coincide in Johnson's encomium. The allusion is, we think, at once indecent and obscure; and what, after all, does it say, but that Addison's papers aided the struggling cause of virtue?
In the same verses we find a fulsome and ridiculous preference of Addison to Shakspeare!
"In heaven he sings, on earth your Muse supplies
The important loss, and heals our weeping eyes;
Correctly great, she melts each flinty heart,
With EQUAL GENIUS, but SUPERIOR ART."
Surely the force of falsehood and flattery can go no further.
It is a pleasure to turn from these small and shallow things to the "Chase," which, if not a great poem, is founded on a most poetical subject, and which, here and there, sparkles into fine fancy. Dr Johnson truly remarks, that Somerville "set a good example to men of his own class, by devoting a part of his time to elegant knowledge, and has shewn, by the subjects which his poetry has adorned, that it is practicable to be at once a skilful sportsman and a man of letters." But besides this purpose to be the poet—and hitherto he has been almost the sole poet of the squirearchy, as considered apart from the aristocracy—Somerville has the merit of being inspired by a genuine love for the subject. He writes directly from the testimony of his own eyes, and the impulses of his own heart. He has obviously had the mould of his poem suggested by Thomson's "Seasons," but it is the mould only; the thoughts and feelings which are poured into it are his own. He loves the giddy ride over stock and stone, hedge and petty precipice; the invigoration which the keen breath of autumn or winter, like that of a sturdy veteran, gives the animal spirits; the animated aspect of the "assembled jockeyship of half a province;" the wild music of hounds, and horns, and hollas, vieing with each other in mirth and loudness; the breathless interest of the start; the emulous pant of the coursers; the excitement of the moment when the fox appears; the sweeping tumult of the pursuit; the dreamlike rapidity with which five-barred gates are cleared, the yellow or naked woods are passed, and the stubble-ridges "swallowed up in the fierceness and rage" of the rushing steeds; the indifference of those engaged in the headlong sport to the danger or even the death of their companions; the lengthening and deepening howl of the hounds as they near their prey; the fierce silence of the dying victim; and the fiercer shout of victory which announces to the echoes that the brush is won, and the glorious (or inglorious) day's work is over;—all this Somerville loves, and has painted with considerable power. In the course of the poem, he sings also of the mysteries of the dog-kennel—pursues the blood-hound on his track of death—describes a stag-hunt in Windsor Forest—paints the fearful phenomena of canine madness—hunts the hare in a joyous spirit—and goes down after the otter into its watery recesses, and watches its divings and devious motions as with the eyes of a sea-eagle. And, besides, (here also imitating Thomson,) he is led away from the comparatively tame "Chase" of England to the more dangerous and more inspiring sports of other lands, where "the huntsmen are up in Arabia," in pursuit of the wolf, where the bear is bayed amidst forests dark as itself, where the leopard is snared by its own image in a mirror, where the lion falls roaring into the prepared pit, and where the "Chase" is pursued on a large scale by assembled princes amidst the jungles of India.
We doubt not, however, that, were a genuine poet of this age taking up the "Chase" as a subject for song, and availing himself of the accounts of recent travellers, themselves often true poets, such as Lloyd, Livingstone, Cumming Bruce, and Charles Boner, (see the admirable "Chamois Hunting in Bavaria" of the latter,) he would produce a strain incomparably higher than Somerville's. Wilson, at least, as we know from his "Christopher in his Sporting Jacket," and many other articles in Maga, was qualified, in part by nature and in part by extensive experience, to have written such a poem. Indeed, one sentence of his is superior to anything in the "Chase." Speaking of the charge of the cruelty of chasing such an insignificant animal as a fox, he says, "What though it be but a smallish, reddish-brown, sharp-nosed animal, with pricked-up ears, and passionately fond of poultry, that they pursue? After the first tallyho, reynard is rarely seen till he is run in upon—once, perhaps, in the whole run, skirting a wood, or crossing a common. It is an idea that is pursued on a whirlwind of horses, to a storm of canine music, worthy both of the largest lion that ever leaped among a band of Moors sleeping at midnight by an extinguished fire on the African sands." We do not answer for the humanity of this description, but it certainly seems to us to exhaust the subject of the chase, alike in its philosophy and its poetry.[1]
SOMERVILLE'S CHASE.
* * * * *
BOOK I.
THE ARGUMENT.
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![2]
Whom Cambria's towering hills proclaim their lord,
Deign thou to hear my bold, instructive song.
While grateful citizens with pompous show,
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
_10
Of their exotic minstrels, and shrill pipes,
The price of manhood, hail thee with a song,
And airs soft-warbling; my hoarse-sounding horn
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!
_20
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 arrayed,
(A band undaunted, and inured 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
_30
Through fire, and smoke, and blood, and fields of death.
Nature, in her productions slow, aspires
By just degrees to reach perfection's height:
So mimic 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 stained the woodland green with purple dye,
New and unpolished was the huntsman's art;
No stated rule, his wanton will his guide.
_40
With clubs and stones, rude implements of war,
He armed his savage bands, a multitude
Untrained; of twining osiers formed, 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 deemed their lord,
But mild and gentle, and by whom as yet
Secure they grazed. Death stretches o'er the plain
_50
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
Incumbered 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 skilled as yet in nicer arts
_60
Of pampered luxury. Devotion pure,
And strong necessity, thus first began
The chase of beasts: though bloody was the deed,
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
_70
Of due perfection. In this isle remote
Our painted ancestors were slow to learn,
To arms devote, of the politer arts
Nor skilled nor studious; till from Neustria's[3] 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 learned to join
_80
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-favoured 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
Of heroes armed, and broke their crowded ranks;
Which proudly neighing, with the sun begins
_90
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 unrivalled, 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
_100
In this delightful exercise, to raise
His drooping head and cheer his heart with joy.
Ye vigorous youths, by smiling Fortune blest
With large demesnes, hereditary wealth,
Heaped 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,
_110
But breathing death. What though the gripe severe
Of brazen-fisted Time, and slow disease
Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung,
Afflict my shattered frame, undaunted still,
Fixed as a mountain ash, that braves the bolts
Of angry Jove; though blasted, yet unfallen;
Still can my soul in Fancy's mirror view
Deeds glorious once, recal the joyous scene
In all its splendours decked, o'er the full bowl
Recount my triumphs past, urge others on
_120
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,
_130
And bask in his invigorating ray:
Warned by the streaming light and merry lark,
Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats
They carol loud, and in grand chorus joined
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[4]
Some envious cloud veil thy refulgent brow,
In vain the Muses aid; untouched, unstrung,
_140
Lies my mute harp, and thy desponding bard
Sits darkly musing o'er the unfinished lay.
Let no Corinthian pillars prop the dome,
A vain expense, on charitable deeds
Better disposed, to clothe the tattered wretch,
Who shrinks beneath the blast, to feed the poor
Pinched 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-picked bones,
_150
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 lapped 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
_160
O'er greasy fallows, and frequented roads
Can pick the dubious way? Banish far off
Each noisome stench, let no offensive smell
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,
_170
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 unmoistened 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,
_180
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.
But here with watchful and observant eye
Attend their frolics, which too often end
_190
In bloody broils and death. High o'er thy head
Wave thy resounding whip, and with a voice
Fierce-menacing o'errule the stern debate,
And quench their kindling rage; for oft in sport
Begun, combat ensues, growling they snarl,
Then on their haunches reared, rampant they seize
Each other's throats, with teeth and claws in gore
Besmeared, they wound, they tear, till on the ground,
Panting, half dead the conquered champion lies:
Then sudden all the base ignoble crowd
_200
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 fallen!
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
_210
Concoctive stored, and potent to allay
Each vicious ferment. Thus the hand divine
Of Providence, beneficent and kind
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 frolic pack, attends
His master's side, or slumbers at his ease
Beneath the bending shade; there many a ring
_220
Runs o'er in dreams; now on the doubtful foil
Puzzles perplexed, or doubles intricate
Cautious unfolds, then winged with all his speed,
Bounds o'er the lawn to seize his panting prey:
And in imperfect whimperings speaks his joy.
A different hound for every different chase
Select with judgment; nor the timorous hare
O'ermatched destroy, but leave that vile offence
To the mean, murderous, coursing crew; intent
On blood and spoil. O blast their hopes, just Heaven!
_230
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
Her doleful knell. See there with countenance blithe,
And with a courtly grin, the fawning hound
Salutes thee cowering, his wide-opening nose
_240
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
Flecked here and there, in gay enamelled pride
Rival the speckled pard; his rush-grown tail
O'er his broad back bends in an ample arch;
On shoulders clean, upright and firm he stands,
His round cat foot, straight hams, and wide-spread thighs,
_250
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 proportioned, 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
Gigantic; he in the thick-woven covert
Painfully tugs, or in the thorny brake
Torn and embarrassed bleeds: but if too small,
_260
The pigmy brood in every furrow swims;
Moiled in the clogging clay, panting they lag
Behind inglorious; or else shivering creep
Benumbed and faint beneath the sheltering 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 fixed standard forms in equal ranks
His gay battalion, as one man they move
_270
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 different kinds; discordant sounds shall grate
Thy ears offended, and a lagging line
_280
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 ravished ears; the deep-flewed hound
Breed up with care, strong, heavy, slow, but sure,
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[6] kind
_290
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-trained and skilled
In all the mysteries of theft, the spoil
Their only substance, feuds and war their sport:
Not more expert in every fraudful art
_300
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 wronged Alcides, and avenging Heaven!
Veiled 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,
_310
Nor stalls protect the steer, nor strong barred doors
Secure the favourite horse. Soon as the morn
Reveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan
The plundered 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
Flourished in air, low-bending plies around
_320
His busy nose, the steaming vapour snuff
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 hill,
_330
O'er beaten paths, with men and beasts distained,
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,
Whence this sagacity, this wondrous 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?
_340
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
Propelled, 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 compressed,
The panting chase grows warmer as he flies,
_350
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 the grateful steam, quick pleasures sting
_360
Their tingling nerves, while they their thanks repay,
And in triumphant melody confess
The titillating joy. Thus on the air
Depend the hunter's hopes. When ruddy streaks
At eve forebode a blustering 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
_370
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
_380
Employ thy precious hours; the improving friend
With open arms embrace, and from his lips
Glean science, seasoned 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
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,
_390
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 sauntering youth, proud of the scut
That dignifies his cap, his flourished belt,
And rusty couples jingling by his side.
Be thou of other mould; and know that such
Transporting pleasures were by Heaven ordained
Wisdom's relief, and Virtue's great reward.
_400
* * * * *
BOOK II.
THE 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 Asiatic way of hunting, particularly the magnificent manner of the Great Mogul, and other Tartarian princes, taken from Monsieur Bernier, and the history of Gengiskan 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 mimics reason's lore
And oft transcends: heaven-taught, the roe-buck 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; strained to excess each nerve,
_10
Each slackened sinew fails; they pant, they foam;
Then o'er the lawn he bounds, o'er the high hills
Stretches secure, and leaves the scattered crowd
To puzzle in the distant vale below.
'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 wand'ring shepherds on the Arabian plains
No settled residence observe, but shift
_20
Their moving camp, now, on some cooler hill
With cedars crowned, 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.
_30
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
The dripping covert: yet when Winter's cold
Their limbs benumbs, thither with speed returned
_40
In the long grass they skulk, or shrinking creep
Among the withered leaves, thus changing still,
As fancy prompts them, or as food invites.
But every season carefully observed,
The inconstant winds, the fickle element,
The wise experienced huntsman soon may find
His subtle, various game, nor waste in vain
His tedious hours, till his impatient hounds
With disappointment vexed, each springing lark
Babbling pursue, far scattered o'er the fields.
_50
Now golden Autumn from her open lap
Her fragrant bounties showers; the fields are shorn;
Inwardly smiling, the proud farmer views
The rising pyramids that grace his yard,
And counts his large increase; his barns are stored,
And groaning staddles bend beneath their load.
All now is free as air, and the gay pack
In the rough bristly stubbles range unblamed;
No widow's tears o'erflow, no secret curse
Swells in the farmer's breast, which his pale lips
_60
Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord awed:
But courteous now he levels every fence,
Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud,
Charmed with the rattling thunder of the field.
Oh bear me, some kind Power invisible!
To that extended lawn, where the gay court
View the swift racers, stretching to the goal;
Games more renowned, and a far nobler train,
Than proud Elean fields could boast of old.
Oh! were a Theban lyre not wanting here,
_70
And Pindar's voice, to do their merit right!
Or to those spacious plains, where the strained eye
In the wide prospect lost, beholds at last
Sarum's proud spire, that o'er the hills ascends,
And pierces through the clouds. Or to thy downs,
Fair Cotswold, where the well-breathed beagle climbs,
With matchless speed, thy green aspiring brow,
And leaves the lagging multitude behind.
Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail!
Rejoiced I see thy purple mantle spread
_80
O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way,
And orient pearls from every shrub depend.
Farewell, Cleora; here deep sunk in down
Slumber secure, with happy dreams amused,
Till grateful steams shall tempt thee to receive
Thy early meal, or thy officious maids,
The toilet placed, shall urge thee to perform
The important work. Me other joys invite,
The horn sonorous calls, the pack awaked
Their matins chant, nor brook my long delay.
_90
My courser hears their voice; see there with ears
And tail erect, neighing he paws the ground;
Fierce rapture kindles in his reddening eyes,
And boils in every vein. As captive boys
Cowed by the ruling rod, and haughty frowns
Of pedagogues severe, from their hard tasks,
If once dismissed, no limits can contain
The tumult raised within their little breasts,
But give a loose to all their frolic play:
So from their kennel rush the joyous pack;
_100
A thousand wanton gaieties express
Their inward ecstasy, their pleasing sport
Once more indulged, and liberty restored.
The rising sun that o'er the horizon peeps,
As many colours from their glossy skins
Beaming reflects, as paint the various bow
When April showers descend. Delightful scene!
Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs,
And in each smiling countenance appears
Fresh-blooming health, and universal joy.
_110
Huntsman, lead on! behind the clustering pack
Submiss attend, hear with respect thy whip
Loud-clanging, and thy harsher voice obey:
Spare not the straggling cur, that wildly roves;
But let thy brisk assistant on his back
Imprint thy just resentments; let each lash
Bite to the quick, till howling he return
And whining creep amid the trembling crowd.
Here on this verdant spot, where nature kind,
With double blessings crowns the farmer's hopes;
_120
Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead
Affords the wandering hares a rich repast,
Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they spread
And range around, and dash the glittering dew.
If some stanch hound, with his authentic voice,
Avow the recent trail, the jostling tribe
Attend his call, then with one mutual cry
The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills
Repeat the pleasing tale. See how they thread
The brakes, and up yon furrow drive along!
_130
But quick they back recoil, and wisely check
Their eager haste; then o'er the fallowed ground
How leisurely they work, and many a pause
The harmonious concert breaks; till more assured
With joy redoubled the low valleys ring.
What artful labyrinths perplex their way!
Ah! there she lies; how close! she pants, she doubts
If now she lives; she trembles as she sits,
With horror seized. The withered grass that clings
Around her head, of the same russet hue
_140
Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes
With life full-beaming her vain wiles betrayed.
At distance draw thy pack, let all be hushed,
No clamour loud, no frantic joy be heard,
Lest the wild hound run gadding o'er the plain
Untractable, nor hear thy chiding voice.
Now gently put her off; see how direct
To her known mews she flies! Here, huntsman, bring
(But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds,
And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop,
_150
And seem to plough the ground! then all at once
With greedy nostrils snuff the fuming steam
That glads their fluttering hearts. As winds let loose
From the dark caverns of the blustering god,
They burst away, and sweep the dewy lawn.
Hope gives them wings while she's spurred on by fear.
The welkin rings; men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods
In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths,
Stripped for the chase, give all your souls to joy!
See how their coursers, than the mountain roe
_160
More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick clouds
Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print
The grass unbruised; with emulation fired
They strain to lead the field, top the barred gate,
O'er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush
The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend
O'er their arched necks; with steady hands, by turns
Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage.
Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs,
Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone,
_170
And with the panting winds lag far behind.
Huntsman! her gait observe, if in wide rings
She wheel her mazy way, in the same round
Persisting still, she'll foil the beaten track.
But if she fly, and with the favouring wind
Urge her bold course; less intricate thy task:
Push on thy pack. Like some poor exiled wretch
The frighted chase leaves her late dear abodes,
O'er plains remote she stretches far away,
Ah! never to return! for greedy Death
_180
Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey.
Hark! from yon covert, where those towering oaks
Above the humble copse aspiring rise,
What glorious triumphs burst in every gale
Upon our ravished ears! The hunters shout,
The clanging horns swell their sweet-winding notes,
The pack wide-opening load the trembling air
With various melody; from tree to tree
The propagated cry redoubling bounds,
And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy
_190
Through all the regions near: afflictive birch
No more the school-boy dreads, his prison broke,
Scampering he flies, nor heeds his master's call;
The weary traveller forgets his road,
And climbs the adjacent hill; the ploughman leaves
The unfinished furrow; nor his bleating flocks
Are now the shepherd's joy; men, boys, and girls
Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds
Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seized.
Look, how she pants! and o'er yon opening glade
_200
Slips glancing by; while, at the further end,
The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile,
Maze within maze. The covert's utmost bound
Slily she skirts; behind them cautious creeps,
And in that very track, so lately stained
By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue
The foe she flies. Let cavillers deny
That brutes have reason; sure 'tis something more,
'Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires,
Beyond the short extent of human thought.
_210
But hold—I see her from the covert break;
Sad on yon little eminence she sits;
Intent she listens with one ear erect,
Pond'ring, and doubtful what new course to take,
And how to escape the fierce blood-thirsty crew,
That still urge on, and still in vollies loud,
Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress.
As now in louder peals, the loaded winds
Bring on the gathering storm, her fears prevail;
And o'er the plain, and o'er the mountain's ridge,
_220
Away she flies; nor ships with wind and tide,
And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast.
Once more, ye jovial train, your courage try,
And each clean courser's speed. We scour along,
In pleasing hurry and confusion tossed;
Oblivion to be wished. The patient pack
Hang on the scent unwearied, up they climb,
And ardent we pursue; our labouring steeds
We press, we gore; till once the summit gained,
Painfully panting, there we breathe a while;
_230
Then like a foaming torrent, pouring down
Precipitant, we smoke along the vale.
Happy the man, who with unrivalled speed
Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view
The struggling pack; how in the rapid course
Alternate they preside, and jostling push
To guide the dubious scent; how giddy youth
Oft babbling errs, by wiser age reproved;
How, niggard of his strength, the wise old hound
Hangs in the rear, till some important point
_240
Rouse all his diligence, or till the chase
Sinking he finds; then to the head he springs,
With thirst of glory fired, and wins the prize.
Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career.
Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance graze,
Have haply soiled the turf. See! that old hound,
How busily he works, but dares not trust
His doubtful sense; draw yet a wider ring.
Hark! now again the chorus fills; as bells
Silenced a while at once their peal renew,
_250
And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls.
See, how they toss, with animated rage
Recovering all they lost!—That eager haste
Some doubling wile foreshews.—Ah! yet once more
They're checked—hold back with speed—on either hand
They nourish round—even yet persist—'Tis right,
Away they spring; the rustling stubbles bend
Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase
Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced.
From brake to brake she flies, and visits all
_260
Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure,
With love and plenty bless'd. See! there she goes,
She reels along, and by her gait betrays
Her inward weakness. See, how black she looks!
The sweat that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves
A languid scent. And now in open view
See, see, she flies! each eager hound exerts
His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve.
How quick she turns! their gaping jaws eludes,
And yet a moment lives; till round inclosed
_270
By all the greedy pack, with infant screams
She yields her breath, and there reluctant dies.
So when the furious Bacchanals assailed
Thracian Orpheus, poor ill-fated bard!
Loud was the cry; hills, woods, and Hebrus' banks,
Returned their clamorous rage; distressed he flies,
Shifting from place to place, but flies in vain;
For eager they pursue, till panting, faint,
By noisy multitudes o'erpowered, he sinks,
To the relentless crowd a bleeding prey.
_280
The huntsman now, a deep incision made,
Shakes out with hands impure, and dashes down
Her reeking entrails, and yet quivering heart.
These claim the pack, the bloody perquisite
For all their toils. Stretched on the ground she lies,
A mangled corse; in her dim glaring eyes
Cold death exults, and stiffens every limb.
Awed by the threatening whip, the furious hounds
Around her bay; or at their master's foot,
Each happy favourite courts his kind applause,
_290
With humble adulation cowering low.
All now is joy. With cheeks full-blown they wind
Her solemn dirge, while the loud-opening pack
The concert swell, and hills and dales return
The sadly-pleasing sounds. Thus the poor hare,
A puny, dastard animal, but versed
In subtle wiles, diverts the youthful train.
But if thy proud, aspiring soul disdains
So mean a prey, delighted with the pomp,
Magnificence and grandeur of the chase;
_300
Hear what the Muse from faithful records sings.
Why on the banks of Gemna, Indian stream,
Line within line, rise the pavilions proud,
Their silken streamers waving in the wind?
Why neighs the warrior horse? from tent to tent,
Why press in crowds the buzzing multitude?
Why shines the polished helm, and pointed lance,
This way and that far-beaming o'er the plain?
Nor Visapour nor Golconda rebel;
Nor the great Sophy, with his numerous host
_310
Lays waste the provinces; nor glory fires
To rob, and to destroy, beneath the name
And specious guise of war. A nobler cause
Calls Aurengzebe[7] to arms. No cities sacked,
No mother's tears, no helpless orphan's cries,
No violated leagues, with sharp remorse
Shall sting the conscious victor: but mankind
Shall hail him good and just. For 'tis on beasts
He draws his vengeful sword; on beasts of prey
Full-fed with human gore. See, see, he comes!
_320
Imperial Delhi opening wide her gates,
Pours out her thronging legions, bright in arms,
And all the pomp of war. Before them sound
Clarions and trumpets, breathing martial airs,
And bold defiance. High upon his throne,
Borne on the back of his proud elephant,
Sits the great chief of Tamur's glorious race:
Sublime he sits, amid the radiant blaze
Of gems and gold. Omrahs about him crowd,
And rein the Arabian steed, and watch his nod:
_330
And potent Rajahs, who themselves preside
O'er realms of wide extent; but here submiss
Their homage pay, alternate kings and slaves.
Next these, with prying eunuchs girt around,
The fair sultanas of his court; a troop
Of chosen beauties, but with care concealed
From each intrusive eye; one look is death.
A cruel Eastern law! (had kings a power
But equal to their wild tyrannic will)
To rob us of the sun's all-cheering ray,
_340
Were less severe. The vulgar close the march,
Slaves and artificers; and Delhi mourns
Her empty and depopulated streets.
Now at the camp arrived, with stern review,
Through groves of spears, from file to file he darts
His sharp experienced eye; their order marks,
Each in his station ranged, exact and firm,
Till in the boundless line his sight is lost.
Not greater multitudes in arms appeared,
On these extended plains, when Ammon's[8] son
_350
With mighty Porus in dread battle joined,
The vassal world the prize. Nor was that host
More numerous of old, which the great king
Poured out on Greece from all the unpeopled East;
That bridged the Hellespont from shore to shore,
And drank the rivers dry. Meanwhile in troops
The busy hunter-train mark out the ground,
A wide circumference; full many a league
In compass round; woods, rivers, hills, and plains,
Large provinces; enough to gratify
_360
Ambition's highest aim, could reason bound
Man's erring will. Now sit in close divan
The mighty chiefs of this prodigious host.
He from the throne high-eminent presides,
Gives out his mandates proud, laws of the chase,
From ancient records drawn. With reverence low,
And prostrate at his feet, the chiefs receive
His irreversible decrees, from which
To vary is to die. Then his brave bands
Each to his station leads; encamping round,
_370
Till the wide circle is completely formed;
Where decent order reigns, what these command,
Those execute with speed, and punctual care;
In all the strictest discipline of war:
As if some watchful foe, with bold insult
Hung lowering o'er their camp. The high resolve,
That flies on wings, through all the encircling line,
Each motion steers, and animates the whole.
So by the sun's attractive power controlled,
The planets in their spheres roll round his orb,
_380
On all he shines, and rules the great machine.
Ere yet the morn dispels the fleeting mists,
The signal given by the loud trumpet's voice,
Now high in air the imperial standard waves,
Emblazoned rich with gold, and glittering gems;
And like a sheet of fire, through the dun gloom
Streaming meteorous. The soldiers' shouts,
And all the brazen instuments of war,
With mutual clamor, and united din,
Fill the large concave. While from camp to camp,
_390
They catch the varied sounds, floating in air,
Round all the wide circumference, tigers fell
Shrink at the noise; deep in his gloomy den
The lion starts, and morsels yet unchewed
Drop from his trembling jaws. Now all at once
Onward they march embattled, to the sound
Of martial harmony; fifes, cornets, drums,
That rouse the sleepy soul to arms, and bold
Heroic deeds. In parties here and there
Detached o'er hill and dale, the hunters range
_400
Inquisitive; strong dogs that match in fight
The boldest brute, around their masters wait,
A faithful guard. No haunt unsearched, they drive
From every covert, and from every den,
The lurking savages. Incessant shouts
Re-echo through the woods, and kindling fires
Gleam from the mountain tops; the forest seems
One mingling blaze: like flocks of sheep they fly
Before the flaming brand: fierce lions, pards,
Boars, tigers, bears, and wolves; a dreadful crew
_410
Of grim blood-thirsty foes: growling along,
They stalk indignant; but fierce vengeance still
Hangs pealing on their rear, and pointed spears
Present immediate death. Soon as the night
Wrapt in her sable veil forbids the chase,
They pitch their tents, in even ranks around
The circling camp. The guards are placed, and fires
At proper distances ascending rise,
And paint the horizon with their ruddy light.
So round some island's shore of large extent,
_420
Amid the gloomy horrors of the night,
The billows breaking on the pointed rocks,
Seem all one flame, and the bright circuit wide
Appears a bulwark of surrounding fire.
What dreadful bowlings, and what hideous roar,
Disturb those peaceful shades where erst the bird
That glads the night, had cheered the listening groves
With sweet complainings! Through the silent gloom
Oft they the guards assail; as oft repelled
They fly reluctant, with hot-boiling rage
_430
Stung to the quick, and mad with wild despair.
Thus day by day, they still the chase renew;
At night encamp; till now in straiter bounds
The circle lessens, and the beasts perceive
The wall that hems them in on every side.
And now their fury bursts, and knows no mean;
From man they turn, and point their ill-judged rage
Against their fellow brutes. With teeth and claws
The civil war begins; grappling they tear.
Lions on tigers prey, and bears on wolves:
_440
Horrible discord! till the crowd behind
Shouting pursue, and part the bloody fray.
At once their wrath subsides; tame as the lamb
The lion hangs his head, the furious pard,
Cowed and subdued, flies from the face of man,
Nor bears one glance of his commanding eye.
So abject is a tyrant in distress!
At last within the narrow plain confined,
A listed field, marked out for bloody deeds,
An amphitheatre more glorious far
_450
Than ancient Rome could boast, they crowd in heaps,
Dismayed, and quite appalled. In meet array
Sheathed in refulgent arms, a noble band
Advance; great lords of high imperial blood,
Early resolved to assert their royal race,
And prove by glorious deeds their valour's growth
Mature, ere yet the callow down has spread
Its curling shade. On bold Arabian steeds
With decent pride they sit, that fearless hear
The lion's dreadful roar; and down the rock
_460
Swift-shooting plunge, or o'er the mountain's ridge
Stretching along, the greedy tiger leave
Panting behind. On foot their faithful slaves
With javelins armed attend; each watchful eye
Fixed on his youthful care, for him alone
He fears, and to redeem his life, unmoved
Would lose his own. The mighty Aurengzebe,
From his high-elevated throne, beholds
His blooming race; revolving in his mind
What once he was, in his gay spring of life,
_470
When vigour strung his nerves. Parental joy
Melts in his eyes, and flushes in his cheeks.
Now the loud trumpet sounds a charge. The shouts
Of eager hosts, through all the circling line,
And the wild bowlings of the beasts within
Rend wide the welkin, flights of arrows, winged
With death, and javelins launched from every arm,
Gall sore the brutal bands, with many a wound
Gored through and through. Despair at last prevails,
When fainting nature shrinks, and rouses all
_480
Their drooping courage. Swelled with furious rage,
Their eyes dart fire; and on the youthful band
They rush implacable. They their broad shields
Quick interpose; on each devoted head
Their flaming falchions, as the bolts of Jove,
Descend unerring. Prostrate on the ground
The grinning monsters lie, and their foul gore
Defiles the verdant plain. Nor idle stand
The trusty slaves; with pointed spears they pierce
Through their tough hides; or at their gaping mouths
_490
An easier passage find. The king of brutes
In broken roarings breathes his last; the bear
Grumbles in death; nor can his spotted skin,
Though sleek it shine, with varied beauties gay,
Save the proud pard from unrelenting fate.
The battle bleeds, grim Slaughter strides along,
Glutting her greedy jaws, grins o'er her prey.
Men, horses, dogs, fierce beasts of every kind,
A strange promiscuous carnage, drenched in blood,
And heaps on heaps amassed. What yet remain
_500
Alive, with vain assault contend to break
The impenetrable line. Others, whom fear
Inspires with self-preserving wiles, beneath
The bodies of the slain for shelter creep.
Aghast they fly, or hide their heads dispersed.
And now perchance (had Heaven but pleased) the work
Of death had been complete; and Aurengzebe
By one dread frown extinguished half their race.
When lo! the bright sultanas of his court
Appear, and to his ravished eyes display
_510
Those charms, but rarely to the day revealed.
Lowly they bend, and humbly sue, to save
The vanquished host. What mortal can deny
When suppliant beauty begs? At his command
Opening to right and left, the well-trained troops
Leave a large void for their retreating foes.
Away they fly, on wings of fear upborne,
To seek on distant hills their late abodes.
Ye proud oppressors, whose vain hearts exult
In wantonness of power, 'gainst the brute race,
_520
Fierce robbers like yourselves, a guiltless war
Wage uncontrolled: here quench your thirst of blood:
But learn from Aurengzebe to spare mankind.