The deep still pool, within some hollow trunk Contrives his wicker couch; whence he surveys His long purlieu, lord of the stream, and all The finny shoals his own. But you, brave youths, Dispute the felon’s claim; try every root, And every reedy bank; encourage all The busy spreading pack, that fearless plunge Into the flood, and cross the rapid stream. Bid rocks and caves, and each resounding shore, Proclaim your bold defiance; loudly raise Each cheering voice, till distant hills repeat The triumphs of the vale. On the soft sand, See there, his seal impress’d; and, on that bank, Behold the glittering spoils, half-eaten fish, Scales, fins, and bones, the leavings of his feast. Ah! on that yielding sag-bed, see, once more His seal I view. O’er yon dank rushy marsh The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course, And seeks the distant shallows. Huntsman! bring Thy eager pack, and trail him to his couch. Hark! the loud peal begins; the clamorous joy, The gallant chiding, loads the trembling air. Ye Naiads fair, who o’er these floods preside, Raise up your dripping heads above the wave, And hear our melody. The harmonious notes [Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 407-431.] Float with the stream; and every winding creek, And hollow rock, that o’er the dimpling flood Nods pendent, still improve, from shore to shore, Our sweet reiterated joys. What shouts! What clamour loud! What gay, heart-cheering sounds Urge, through the breathing brass their mazy way! Not choirs of Tritons glad, with sprightlier strains, The dancing billows, when proud Neptune rides In triumph o’er the deep. How greedily They snuff the fishy steam, that to each blade, Rank-scenting, clings! See! how the morning dews They sweep, that from their feet, besprinkling, drop, Dispersed, and leave a track oblique behind. Now on firm land they range; then in the flood They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools, Rustling, they work their way: no holt escapes Their curious search. With quick sensation now The fuming vapour stings, flutters their hearts, And joy, redoubled, bursts from every mouth, In louder symphonies. Yon hollow trunk, That, with its hoary head incurved, salutes The passing wave, must be the tyrant’s fort, And dread abode. How these impatient climb, While others, at the root, incessant bay: They put him down. See, there he dives along! [Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 432-456.]