The hunt is up, the hunt is up!
Sing merrily we, the hunt is up!
Then hie apace
Unto the chase,
Hey, nonny, nony, no!
While every thing
Doth sweetly sing
Hey, trolilo, trololilo,
The hunt is up, the hunt is up!
Sing merrily we, the hunt is up!
My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind;
So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
Crook-knee'd and dew-lapp'd, like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth like bells,
Each under each: a cry more tunable
Was never halloo'd to, nor cheered with horn.
In our way to Hound's-Down we rode past a celebrated spot, called the Deer Leap. Here a stag was once shot, which, in the agony of death, collecting his force, gave a bound which astonished those who saw it. It was immediately commemorated by two posts, which were fixed at the two extremities of the leap, where they still remain. space between them is somewhat more than eighteen yards.
FROM THE CHASE."
Delightful scene!
Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs,
And in each smiling countenance appears
Fresh blooming health and universal joy.
Huntsman! lead on--behind, the clustering pack
Submiss attend, hear with respect thy whip
Loud clanging, and thy harsher voice obey.
Here on this verdant spot, where Nature kind
With double blessings crowns the farmer's hopes;
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 staunch 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!
But quick they back recoil, and wisely check
Their eager haste; then o'er the fallow'd ground
How leisurely they work, and many a pause
Th' harmonious concert breaks; till more assur'd,
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 seiz'd! The withered grass that clings
Around her head, of the same russet hue,
Almost deceiv'd my sight, had not her eyes,
With life full beaming, her vain wiles betray'd.
At distance draw thy pack; let all be hush'd-
No clamor 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 mew she flies! Here, huntsman, bring
(But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds,
And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop,
And seem to plow 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-en, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods
In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths,
Stripp'd for the chase, give all your souls to joy!
See how their coursers, than the mountain roe
More fleet, the verdant carpet skim; thick clouds
Snorting they breathe; their shining hoofs scarce print The grass embruis'd; with emulation fir'd,
They strain to lead the field, top the barr'd gate,
O'er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush
The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend
O'er their arch'd 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,
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 favoring wind
Urge her bold course, less intricate thy task:
Push on thy pack. Like some poor exil'd wretch,
The frighted Chase leaves her late dear abodes;
O'er plains remote she stretches far away,
Ah! never to return! For greedy Death
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 ravish'd ears! The hunter's shout,
The changing 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
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 traveler forgets his road,
And climbs th' adjacent hill; the plowman leaves
Th' unfinish'd furrow; nor his bleating flocks are now
The shepherd's joy! Men, boys, and girls
Desert th' unpeopled village, and wild crowds
Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seiz'd.
Look, how she pants! and o'er yon opening glade
Slips glancing by! while, at the farther end,
The puzzled 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 stain'd
By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue
The foe she flies. Let cavilers deny
That brutes have reason; sure 'tis something more,
'Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires
Beyond the short extent of human thought.
But hold! I see her from her covert break;
Sad on yon little eminence she sits;
Intent she listens, with one ear erect,
Pondering, and doubtful what new course to take,
And how t' escape the fierce, blood-thirsty crew
That still urge on, and still in valleys 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
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 lost;
Oblivion to be wish'd. The patient pack
Hang on the scent unwearied; up they climb,
And ardent we pursue; our laboring steeds
We press, we gore; till once the summit gain'd,
Painfully panting, there we breathe awhile;
Then, like a foaming torrent, pouring down
Precipitant, we smoke along the vale.
Happy the man who with unrival'd 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 reprov'd ;
How niggard of his strength, the wise old hound
Hangs in the rear, till some important point
Rouse all his diligence, or till the Chase
Sinking he finds: then to the head he springs,
With thirst of glory fir'd, and wins the prize.
Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career!
Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance gaze,
Have haply foil'd 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
Stilled awhile, at once their peal renew.
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 foreshows. Ah! yet once more
They're checked-hold back with speed-on either hand
They flourish round-ev'n yet persist.
Away they spring; the rustling stubbles bend
Beneath the driving storm. How the poor Chase
Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduc'd!
From brake to brake she flies, and visits all
Her well-known haunts, where once she rang'd secure,
With love and plenty blest. See! there she goes,
She reels along, and by her gait betrays
Her inward weakness. See how black she looks!
The sweat that clogs th' 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 inclos'd
By all the greedy pack, with infant screams
She yields her breath, and there reluctant dies!
WILLIAM SOMERVILLE, 1692-1742.
A HUNTER'S MATIN.
Up, comrades, up! the morn's awake
Upon the mountain side,
The curlew's wing hath swept the lake,
And the deer has left the tangled brake,
To drink from the limpid tide.
Up, comrades, up! the mead-lark's note
And the plover's cry o'er the prairie float;
The squirrel he springs from his covert now,
To prank it away on the chestnut bough,
Where the oriole's pendent nest, high up,
Is rock'd on the swaying trees,
While the hum-bird sips from the harebell's cup,
As it bends to the morning breeze.
Up, comrades, up! our shallops grate
Upon the pebbly strand,
And our stalwart hounds impatient wait
To spring from the huntsman's hand!
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