At length a boar, thro' a dark coppice side, Amidst the rustling bushes seem'd to glide; Cautious he moved, like a fell thief of night, Strung by his fears to unintended flight. Close to the earth he softly crept along, And shrubs, and underwood around him throng; But ah! in vain he creeps, the air so thin, Catches th' effluvia from his reeking skin, The titillations to the hounds' keen nostrils fly, Who instantly the brown recesses try. When turn'd before them into open view, Quick transports from each bosom flew; The huntsman's law the churning savage found, They suffer'd his escape twelve roods of ground, Ere loose was let the eager mad'ning pack, To follow in the bristly monster's track; At length in close pursuit they pour along, Urged or retarded by their Leader's thong. O'er hills, through brakes, he led them many an hour, Straining each nerve--exhausting ev'ry power: Now hears the dogs' faint mouthings far behind, Then scents them as around a beck they wind-- With dread and joy alternately is fill'd Now high with hope, and now with terror chill'd; Then in despair he turns to meet the foe, And rage and madness in his eyeballs glow-- When Henry, darting on before the rest, Fix'd the bright lance within his heaving breast, His struggling breast convulsive motions strain, His spouting veins the foaming coursers stain: The death-notes issue from the brazen horn, And from th' enormous trunk the head is torn. Straight with the tusk-arm'd head upon his spear, Lord Henry turn'd to Her--for ever dear! To lay the bleeding trophy at her feet, And make his triumph more sincerely sweet-- But horror! no Edwina could be seen, Nor on the hill's soft slope, or pasture green; Not shelter'd, near the torrent's fall she lay, Nor on the forest's edge, escaped the day, Nor was she on the plain--the valleys too, Gave no Edwina to the aching view. Wonder and dread compress her husband's heart, O'er the surrounding scene his eye-beams dart; He moves--stands still--terror lifts up his hair, He seems the pale-cheek'd spectre of despair. And now was heard her steed's sonorous neigh, Whose voice the rocks' firm echoes would obey; Bounding, he comes towards them from the plain, But his sweet mistress held no guiding rein-- The reins float loosely, as he cleft the air, No mistress sweet, with guiding hand, was there! From all but Henry burst terrific cries, Silent his dread--and quite suppress'd his sighs. His manly features sink, his eyelids close, And all his lineaments express his woes. Speech! O, how weak, when mighty sorrows spring, When fears excessive to the bosom cling! Words may to lighter troubles give a show, But find no place where griefs transcendent grow. At length they each a different way diverge,