The glades, mild opening to the golden day;
Where, in kind conteft, with his butting friends.
He wont to ftruggle, or his loves enjoy.

Oft in the full-defcending flood he tries

To lofe the fcent, and lave his burning fides:
Oft feeks the herd; the watchful herd, alarm'd,
With felfish care avoid a brother's woe.
What shall he do? His once fo vivid nerves,
So full of buoyant spirit, now no more
Infpire the course; but fainting breathless toil,
Sick, feizes on his heart: he stands at bay;
And puts his laft weak refuge in despair.
The big round tears run down his dappled face ;
He groans in anguifh; while the growling pack,
Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting cheft,
And mark his beauteous checker'd fides with gore.
Of this enough. But if the filvan youth,
Whofe fervent blood boils into violence,
Muft have the chace; behold, defpifing flight,
The rous'd-up lion, refolute, and flow,
Advancing full on the protended spear,
And coward-band, that circling wheel aloof.
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 deftruction, to the monster's heart
Let the dart lighten from the nervous arm.
These BRITAIN knows not; give, ye BRITONS, then
Your sportive fury, pityless, to pour

Loofe on the rightly robber of the fold:
Him, from his craggy winding haunts unearth'd,
Let all the thunder of the chace pursue.
Throw the broad ditch behind you; o'er the hedge
High-bound, refiftlefs; nor the deep morafs
Refuse, but thro' the shaking wilderness
Pick your nice way; into the perilous flood
Bear fearless, of the raging inftinct full;

And as you
ride the torrent, to the banks
Your triumph found fonorous, running round,
From rock to rock, in circling echos toft;
Then scale the mountains to their woody tops;
Rush down the dangerous steep; and o'er the lawn,
In fancy fwallowing 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
Difclos'd; who knows the merits of the pack;
Who faw the villain feiz'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 ghoftly 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 ftag's large front: he then is loudest heard,
When the night staggers with severer toils,
With feats Theffalian Centaurs never knew,
And their repeated wonders shake the dome,
But firft the fuel'd chimney blazes wide;
The tankards foam; and the ftrong table groans
Beneath the fmoking firloin, ftretch'd immense
From fide to fide; in which, with defperate knife,
They deep incifion make, and talk the while
Of ENGLAND'S glory, ne'er to be defac'd
While hence they borrow vigour: or amain
Into the pasty plung'd, at intervals,
If ftomach keen can intervals allow,
Relating all the glories of the chace.
Then fated Hunger bids his brother Thirst
Produce the mighty bowl; the mighty bowl,
Swell'd high with fiery juice, fteams liberal round
A potent gale, delicious, as the breath

Of Maia to the love-fick fhepherdefs,

On violets diffus'd, while foft she hears
Her panting shepherd ftealing to her arms.
Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn,
Mature and perfect, from his dark retreat
Of thirty years; and now his honeft front
Flames in the light refulgent, not afraid
Even with the vineyards beft produce to vie.
To cheat the thirsty moments, whift a while
Walks his dull round, beneath a cloud of smoke,
Wreath'd, fragrant, from the pipe; or the quick dice,
In thunder leaping from the box, awake
The founding gammon: while romp-loving mifs
Is haul'd about, in gallantry robust.
At last these puling idleneffes laid
Afide, frequent and full, the dry divan
Clofe in firm circle; and fet, ardent, in
For ferious drinking, Nor evafion fly,
Nor fober shift, is to the puking wretch
Indulg'd apart; but earnest, brimming bowls
Lave every foul, the table floating round,
And pavement, faithless to the fuddled foot.
Thus as they swim in mutual fwill, the talk,
Vociferous at once from twenty tongues,
Reels faft from theme to theme; from horses, hounds,
To church or miftrefs, politics or ghoft,

In endless mazes, intricate, perplex'd.

Meantime, with fudden interruption, loud,

Th' impatient catch burfts from the joyous heart;
That moment touch'd is every kindred foul;
And, opening in a full-mouth'd Cry of joy,

The laugh, the flap, the jocund curfe go round;
While, from their flumbers fhook, the kennel'd hounds
Mix in the mufic of the day again.

As when the tempest that has vex'd the deep

The dark night long, with fainter murmurs falls :
So gradual finks their mirth. Their feeble tongues
Unable to take up the cumbrous word,

Lie quite diffolv'd. Before their maudlin eyes,
Seen dim, and blue, the double tapers dance,
Like the fun wading thro' the mifty sky.
Then sliding foft, they drop. Confus'd above,
Glaffes and bottles, pipes and gazetteers,

As if the table even itself was drunk,
Lie a wet broken fcene; and wide, below,
Is heap'd the focial slaughter: where astride
The lubber Power in filthy triumph fits,
Slumbrous, inclining still from fide to fide,

And steeps them drench'd in potent sleep till morn.
Perhaps fome doctor, of tremendous paunch,

Awful and deep, a black abyss of drink,