See how their coursers, than the mountain roe _160 More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick clouds Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print The grass unbruised; with emulation fired They strain to lead the field, top the barred gate, O'er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend O'er their arched necks; with steady hands, by turns Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage. Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs, Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone, _170 And with the panting winds lag far behind. Huntsman! her gait observe, if in wide rings She wheel her mazy way, in the same round Persisting still, she'll foil the beaten track. But if she fly, and with the favouring wind Urge her bold course; less intricate thy task: Push on thy pack. Like some poor exiled wretch The frighted chase leaves her late dear abodes, O'er plains remote she stretches far away, Ah! never to return! for greedy Death _180 Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey. Hark! from yon covert, where those towering oaks Above the humble copse aspiring rise, What glorious triumphs burst in every gale Upon our ravished ears! The hunters shout, The clanging horns swell their sweet-winding notes, The pack wide-opening load the trembling air With various melody; from tree to tree The propagated cry redoubling bounds, And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy _190 Through all the regions near: afflictive birch No more the school-boy dreads, his prison broke, Scampering he flies, nor heeds his master's call; The weary traveller forgets his road, And climbs the adjacent hill; the ploughman leaves The unfinished furrow; nor his bleating flocks Are now the shepherd's joy; men, boys, and girls Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seized. Look, how she pants! and o'er yon opening glade _200 Slips glancing by; while, at the further end, The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile, Maze within maze. The covert's utmost bound Slily she skirts; behind them cautious creeps, And in that very track, so lately stained By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue The foe she flies. Let cavillers deny That brutes have reason; sure 'tis something more, 'Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires, Beyond the short extent of human thought. _210 But hold--I see her from the covert break; Sad on yon little eminence she sits; Intent she listens with one ear erect, Pond'ring, and doubtful what new course to take, And how to escape the fierce blood-thirsty crew, That still urge on, and still in vollies loud, Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress. As now in louder peals, the loaded winds Bring on the gathering storm, her fears prevail; And o'er the plain, and o'er the mountain's ridge, _220 Away she flies; nor ships with wind and tide,