Conflicting thoughts the voice suppressed: The fire of vengeance seemed to stream From his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam. And now the tumults of the war, Mingling confusedly from afar, Swell in the wind. Now louder cries, Distinct, of hounds and men arise. Forth from the brake, with beating heart, Th' assembled hares tumultuous start, And, every straining nerve on wing, Away precipitately spring. The hunting band, a signal given, Thick thundering o'er the plain are driven; O'er cliff abrupt, and shrubby mound, And river broad, impetuous bound; Now plunge amid the forest shades, Glance through the openings of the glades; Now o'er the level valley sweep, Now with short steps strain up the steep, While backward from the hunter's eyes The landscape like a torrent flies. At last an ancient wood they gained, By pruner's axe yet unprofaned. High o'er the rest, by Nature reared, The oak's majestic boughs appeared; Beneath, a copse of various hue In barbarous luxuriance grew; No knife had curbed the rambling sprays, No hand had wove th' implicit maze. The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind, The hazle's stubborn stem intwined, And bramble twigs were wreathed around, And rough furze crept along the ground. Here sheltering, from the sons of murther, The hares drag their tired limbs no further. But, lo! the western wind erelong Was loud, and roared the woods among: From rustling leaves, and crashing boughs, The sound of woe and war arose. The hares, distracted, scour the grove, As terror and amazement drove; But danger, wheresoe'er they fled, Still seemed impending o'er their head. Now crowded in a grotto's gloom, All hope extinct, they wait their doom: Dire was the silence, till, at length, Even from despair deriving strength, With bloody eye, and furious look, A daring youth arose, and spoke. "O wretched race, the scorn of Fate, "Whom ills of every sort await! "O, cursed with keenest sense to feel "The sharpest sting of every ill! "Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme, "Of liberty and vengeance dream, "What now remains? To what recess "Shall we our weary steps address, "Since Fate is evermore pursuing "All ways and means to work our ruin? "Are we alone, of all beneath, "Condemned to misery worse than death! "Must we, with fruitless labour, strive, "In misery worse than death to live! "No. Be the smaller ill our choice: "So dictates Nature's powerful voice. "Death's pang will in a moment cease; "And then, All hail, eternal peace!" Thus while he spoke, his words impart The dire resolve to every heart. A distant lake in prospect lay, That, glittering in the solar ray, Gleamed through the dusky trees, and shot A trembling light along the grot.