Afflict my shatter’d frame, undaunted still, Fix’d as the mountain ash, that braves the bolts Of angry Jove, though blasted, yet unfall’n; Still can my soul, in fancy’s mirrour, view Deeds glorious once, recall the joyous scene In all its splendours deck’d, o’er the full bowl Recount my triumphs pass’d, urge others on With hand and voice, and point the winding way: Pleased with that social sweet garrulity, The poor disbanded veteran’s sole delight. First, let the kennel be the huntsman’s care; Upon some little eminence erect, And fronting to the ruddy dawn; its courts On either hand wide opening to receive The sun’s all-cheering beams, when mild he shines, And gilds the mountain tops. For much the pack (Roused from their dark alcoves) delight to stretch And bask in his invigorating ray: Warn’d by the streaming light, and merry lark, Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats They carol loud, and, in grand chorus join’d, Salute the new-born day. For not alone The vegetable world, but men and brutes Own his reviving influence, and joy At his approach. Fountain of light! if chance [Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 139-163.] Some envious cloud veil thy refulgent brow, In vain the Muses aid, untouch’d, unstrung, Lies my mute harp, and thy desponding bard Sits darkly musing o’er the unfinish’d lay. Let no Corinthian pillars prop the dome, A vain expense, on charitable deeds Better disposed, to clothe the tatter’d wretch Who shrinks beneath the blast, to feed the poor, Pinch’d with afflictive want: for use, not state, Gracefully plain let each apartment rise. O’er all let cleanliness preside; no scraps Bestrew the pavement, and no half-pick’d bones, To kindle fierce debate, or to disgust That nicer sense, on which the sportsman’s hope, And all his future triumphs, must depend. Soon as the growling pack, with eager joy, Have lapp’d their smoking viands, morn or eve, From the full cistern lead the ductile streams, To wash thy court, well-paved; nor spare thy pains, For much to health will cleanliness avail. Seek’st thou for hounds to climb the rocky steep, And brush the entangled covert, whose nice scent O’er greasy fallows, and frequented roads, Can pick the dubious way? Banish far off Each noisome stench, let no offensive smell [Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 164-188.]