Far through the forest depths of Thanet Isle, That never yet had heard the woodman's axe, Rang the glad clarion on the May-day morn, Blent with the cry of hounds. The rising sun Flamed on the forests' dewy jewelry, While, under rising mists, a host with plumes Rode down a broad oak alley t'wards the sea. King Ethelbert rode first: he reigned in Kent, Least kingdom of the Seven yet Head of all Through his desert. That morn the royal train, While sang the invisible lark her song in heaven, Pursued the flying stag. At times the creature, As though he too had pleasure in the sport, Vaulted at ease through sunshine and through shade, Then changed his mood, and left the best behind him. Five hours they chased him; last, upon a rock High up in scorn he held his antlered front, Then took the wave and vanished. Many a frown Darkened that hour on many a heated brow; And many a spur afflicted that poor flank Which panted hard and smoked. The King alone Laughed at mischance. 'The stag, with God to aid, Has left our labour fruitless! Give him joy! He lives to yield us sport some later morn: So be it! Waits our feast, and not far off: On to the left, 'twixt yonder ash and birch!' He spake, and anger passed: they praised their sport; And many an outblown nostril seemed to snuff That promised feast. They rode through golden furze So high the horsemen only were descried; And glades whose centuried oaks their branches laid O'er violet banks; and fruit trees, some snow-veiled Like bridesmaid, others like the bride herself Behind her white veil blushing. Glad, the thrush Carolled; more glad, the wood-dove moaned; close by A warbling runnel led them to the bay: Two chestnuts stood beside it snowy-coned: The banquet lay beneath them. Feasting o'er, The song succeeded. Boastful was the strain, Each Thane his deeds extolling, or his sire's; But one, an aged man, among them scoffed: 'When I was young; when Sigbert on my right To battle rode, and Sefred on my left; That time men stood not worsted by a stag! Not then our horses swerved from azure strait Scared by the ridged sea-wave!' Next spake a chief, Pirate from Denmark late returned: 'Our skies, Good friends, are all too soft to build the man! We fight for fame: the Northman fights for sport; Their annals boast they fled but once:--'twas thus: In days of old, when Rome was in her pride, Huge hosts of hers had fallen on theirs, surprised, And way-worn: long they fought: a remnant spent, Fled to their camp. Upon its walls their wives Stood up, black-garbed, with axes heaved aloft, And fell upon the fugitives, and slew them; Slew next their little ones; slew last themselves, Cheating the Roman Triumph.