Grins as he grins, fierce-menacing, and wide Distends his opening jaws; himself against Himself opposed, and with dread vengeance armed. The huntsman now secure, with fatal aim Directs the pointed spear, by which transfixed He dies, and with him dies the rival shade. Thus man innumerous engines forms, to assail The savage kind: but most the docile horse, Swift and confederate with man, annoys _310 His brethren of the plains; without whose aid The hunter's arts are vain, unskilled to wage With the more active brutes an equal war. But borne by him, without the well-trained pack, Man dares his foe, on wings of wind secure. Him the fierce Arab mounts, and with his troop Of bold compeers, ranges the deserts wild, Where by the magnet's aid, the traveller Steers his untrodden course; yet oft on land Is wrecked, in the high-rolling waves of sand _320 Immersed and lost; while these intrepid bands, Safe in their horses' speed, out-fly the storm, And scouring round, make men and beasts their prey. The grisly boar is singled from his herd As large as that in Erimanthian woods. A match for Hercules. Round him they fly In circles wide; and each in passing sends His feathered death into his brawny sides. But perilous the attempt. For if the steed Haply too near approach; or the loose earth _330 His footing fail; the watchful angry beast The advantage spies; and at one sidelong glance Rips up his groin. Wounded, he rears aloft, And plunging, from his back the rider hurls Precipitant; then bleeding spurns the ground, And drags his reeking entrails o'er the plain. Meanwhile the surly monster trots along, But with unequal speed; for still they wound, Swift-wheeling in the spacious ring. A wood Of darts upon his back he bears; adown _340 His tortured sides, the crimson torrents roll From many a gaping font. And now at last Staggering he falls, in blood and foam expires. But whither roves my devious Muse, intent On antique tales, while yet the royal stag Unsung remains? Tread with respectful awe Windsor's green glades; where Denham, tuneful bard, Charmed once the listening dryads, with his song Sublimely sweet. Oh! grant me, sacred shade, To glean submiss what thy full sickle leaves. _350 The morning sun that gilds with trembling rays Windsor's high towers, beholds the courtly train Mount for the chase, nor views in all his course A scene so gay: heroic, noble youths, In arts and arms renowned, and lovely nymphs The fairest of this isle, where Beauty dwells Delighted, and deserts her Paphian grove For our more favoured shades: in proud parade These shine magnificent, and press around The royal happy pair. Great in themselves, _360 They smile superior; of external show Regardless, while their inbred virtues give A lustre to their power, and grace their court With real splendours, far above the pomp