To hunt, or not to hunt? that is the question―― Whether ’tis prudent in the soul to suffer The pangs of self denial, or to urge With enthusiastic rage and bold defiance The rapid chase;――to hunt――to ride―― No more, and by that ride to say we fly From thought, that canker-worm to gay desires, From cares that feed upon the lamp of life. ’Tis a fruition devoutly to be wished, To hunt――to ride――to ride? perchance to fall; Ay, there’s the rub―― For in the mad pursuit what falls may come, When ev’ry hound each hardy sinew strains, And ev’ry breeze conveys enrapt’ring sounds, Must give us pause!――There’s the respect That gives the fatal blow to promis’d joys, That taints with baleful light each blooming hope, Who would forego this madness of delight; Who without pain could hear a chase describ’d, Or silent sit while others boast their feats, When he himself might mount the neighing steed, And urge the sprightly chase? Beneath a roof Who would wear out the tedious, doleful day, Oppress’d with discontent and dire remorse? But that the dread of fall precipitate, That unknown field, where, destitute of aid, With shiver’d limb he haply may repent His forward zeal and fury uncontrol’d Puzzles the will; and makes us rather pine In humble cell, than seek for distant joys Where pain and death th’ advent’rous hunter wait. But hark―――― The hunter’s notes, on Zephyr’s pinion borne, Assail my ears―――― Already Phœbus gilds the mountain Great Phœbus, patron of the hunting crew, Propitious smile, and vanish ev’ry doubt! _The Mirror._ February 8, 1823. ――――:o:―――― THE DEBTOR’S SOLILOQUY. _After Stocktaking._