Raving, he runs, and deals destruction round. The pack fly diverse; for whate’er he meets, Vengeful, he bites, and every bite is death. If now, perchance, through the weak fence escaped, Far up the wind he roves, with open mouth Inhales the cooling breeze, nor man, nor beast, He spares, implacable. The hunter-horse, Once kind associate of his sylvan toils, Who haply, now, without the kennel’s mound, Crops the rank mead, and, listening, hears with joy The cheering cry, that morn and eve salutes His raptured sense, a wretched victim falls. Unhappy quadruped! no more, alas! Shall thy fond master with his voice applaud Thy gentleness, thy speed; or with his hand Stroke thy soft dappled sides, as he each day Visits thy stall, well pleased: no more shalt thou With sprightly neighings, to the winding horn And the loud-opening pack, in concert join’d, Glad his proud heart; for, oh! the secret wound, Rankling, inflames; he bites the ground, and dies. Hence to the village, with pernicious haste, Baleful, he bends his course: the village flies, Alarm’d; the tender mother, in her arms, Hugs close the trembling babe; the doors are barr’d; [Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 260-282.] And flying curs, by native instinct taught, Shun the contagious bane; the rustick bands Hurry to arms, the rude militia seize Whate’er at hand they find; clubs, forks, or guns, From every quarter charge the furious foe, In wild disorder and uncouth array; Till now, with wounds on wounds, oppress’d and gored, At one short poisonous gasp he breathes his last. Hence, to the kennel, Muse, return, and view, With heavy heart, that hospital of woe, Where horrour stalks at large! insatiate death Sits growling o’er his prey; each hour presents A different scene of ruin and distress. How busy art thou, fate! and how severe Thy pointed wrath! the dying and the dead Promiscuous lie; o’er these, the living fight In one eternal broil; not conscious why, Nor yet with whom. So drunkards, in their cups, Spare not their friends, while senseless squabble reigns. Huntsman! it much behoves thee to avoid The perilous debate. Ah! rouse up all Thy vigilance, and tread the treacherous ground With careful step. Thy fires unquench’d preserve, [Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 283-307.]