Close on the hounds the Hunter came, To cheer them on the vanished game; But, stumbling in the rugged dell, The gallant horse exhausted fell. 155 The impatient rider strove in vain To rouse him with the spur and rein, For the good steed, his labors o'er, Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more; Then, touched with pity and remorse, 160 He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse. "I little thought, when first thy rein I slacked upon the banks of Seine, That Highland eagle e'er should feed On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed! 165 Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, That costs thy life, my gallant gray!" X Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds. Back limped, with slow and crippled pace, 170 The sulky leaders of the chase; Close to their master's side they pressed, With drooping tail and humbled crest; But still the dingle's hollow throat Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 175 The owlets started from their dream, The eagles answered with their scream, Round and around the sounds were cast, Till echo seemed an answering blast; And on the Hunter hied his way, 180 To join some comrades of the day; Yet often paused, so strange the road, So wondrous were the scenes it showed. XI The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way; 185 Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path in shadow hid, 190 Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle; Round many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, 195 Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. The rocky summits, split and rent, Formed turret, dome, or battlement, Or seemed fantastically set 200 With cupola or minaret, Wild crests as pagod ever decked, Or mosque of Eastern architect. Nor were these earth-born castles bare, Nor lacked they many a banner fair; 205 For, from their shivered brows displayed, Far o'er the unfathomable glade, All twinkling with the dewdrops sheen, The brier-rose fell in streamers green, And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes, 210 Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs. XII