'They drown the clamor of the chase; Oh! hunt not then to-day, Nor let a fiend's advice destroy Thy better angel's sway.'

'Hunt on, hunt on,' his comrade cries, 'Nor heed yon dotard's spell; What is the bawling quire to us?

Or what the jangling bell?

'Well may the chase delight thee more; And well may'st learn from me, How brave, how princely is our sport, From bigot terrors free.'

'Well said! well said! in thee I own A hero's kindled fire; These pious fool'ries move not us, We reck nor priest, nor quire.

'And thou, believe me, saintlike dolt, Thy bigot rage is vain; From prayers and beadrolls, what delight Can sportsmen hope to gain?'

Still hurry, hurry, on they speed O'er valley, hill and plain; And ever at the baron's side Attend the hors.e.m.e.n twain.

See, panting, see, a milk-white hart Up-springs from yonder thorn: 'Now swiftly ply both horse and foot; Now louder wind the horn!'

See, falls a huntsman! see, his limbs The pangs of death distort!

'Lay there and rot: no caitiff's death Shall mar our princely sport.'

Light bounds with deftest speed the hart, Wide o'er the country borne; Now closer prest a refuge seeks Where waves the ripening corn.

See, the poor owner of the field Approach with tearful eyes; 'O pity, pity, good my lords!'

Alas! in vain he cries.

'O spare what little store the poor By bitter sweat can earn!'

Now soft the milder horseman warns The baron to return.

Not so persuades his stern compeer, Best pleas'd with darkest deeds; Tis his to sway the baron's heart, Reckless what mercy pleads.

'Away!' the imperious n.o.ble cries; 'Away, and leave us free!

Off! or by all the powers of h.e.l.l, Thou too shalt hunted be!

'Here, fellows! let this villain prove My threats were not in vain: Loud lash around his piteous face The whips of all my train.'

Tis said, tis done: swift o'er the fence The baron foremost springs; Swift follow hound, and horse, and man, And loud the welkin rings.

Loud rings the welkin with their shouts, While man, and horse, and hound, Ruthless tread down each ripening ear, Wide o'er the smoking ground.

O'er heath and field, o'er hill and dale, Scared by the approaching cries, Still close pursued, yet still unreach'd, Their destin'd victim flies.

Now mid the lowing herds that graze Along yon verdant plain, He hopes, concealed from every eye, A safe retreat to gain.

In vain, for now the savage train Press ravening on his heels: See, prostrate at the baron's feet The affrighted herdsman kneels.

Fear for the safety of his charge Inspires his faltering tongue; 'O spare,' he cries, 'these harmless beasts, Nor work an orphan's wrong.

'Think, here thy fury would destroy A friendless widow's all!'

He spoke:--the gentle stranger strove To enforce soft pity's call.

Not so persuades his sullen frere, But pleas'd with darkest deeds; Tis his to sway the baron's heart, Reckless what mercy pleads.

'Away, audacious hound!' he cries; 'Twould do my heart's-blood good, Might I but see thee transform'd to beasts Thee and thy beggar brood.

'Then, to the very gates of heaven, Who dare to say me nay!

With joy I'd hunt the losel fry; Come fellows, no delay!'

See, far and wide the murderous throng Deal many a deadly wound; Mid slaughter'd numbers, see, the hart Sinks bleeding on the ground.

Yet still he summons all his strength For one poor effort more, Staggering he flies; his silver sides Drop mingled sweat and gore.

And now he seeks a last retreat Deep in the darkling dell, Where stands, amidst embowering oaks, A hermit's holy cell.

E'en here the madly eager train Rush swift with impious rage, When, lo! persuasion on his tongue, Steps forth the reverend sage.

'O cease thy chase! nor thus invade Religion's free abode; For know, the tortur'd creature's groans E'en now have reach'd his G.o.d.

'They cry at heaven's high mercy seat, For vengeance on thy head; O turn, repentant turn, ere yet The avenging bolt is sped.'

Once more religion's cause in vain The gentle stranger pleads; Once more, alas! his sullen frere A willing victim leads.

'Dash on!' the harden'd sinner cries; 'Shalt thou disturb our sport?

No! boldly would I urge the chase In heaven's own inmost court.

'What reck I then thy pious rage?

No mortal man I fear: Not G.o.d in all his terrors arm'd Should stay my fix'd career.'

He cracks his whip, he winds his horn, He calls his va.s.sal-crew; Lo! horse and hound, and sage and cell, All vanish from his view.

All, all, are gone!--no single rack His eager eye can trace; And silence, still as death, has hush'd The clamors of the chase.

In vain he spurs his courser's sides, Nor back nor forward borne; He winds his horn, he calls aloud, But hears no sound return.

And now inclos'd in deepest night, Dark as the silent grave, He hears the sullen tempest roar, As roars the distant wave.

Loud and louder still the storm Howls through the troubled air; Ten thousand thunders from on high The voice of judgment bear.

Accursed before G.o.d and man, Unmoved by threat or prayer; Creator, nor created, aught Thy frantic rage would spare.

'Think not in vain creation's lord Has heard his creature's groan; E'en now the torch of vengeance flames High by his awful throne.

'Now, hear thy doom! to aftertimes A dread example given, For ever urge thy wild career, By fiendish h.e.l.l-hounds driven.'

The voice had ceased; the sulphurous flash Shot swift from either pole; Sore shook the grove; cold horror seized The trembling miscreant's soul.

Again the rising tempest roars, Again the lightnings play; And every limb, and every nerve Is frozen with dismay.

He sees a giant's swarthy arm Start from the yawning ground; He feels a demon grasp his head, And rudely wrench it round.

In torrents now from every side, Pours fast a fiery flood; On each o'erwhelming wave upborne, Loud howls the h.e.l.lish brood.