Again uproused, the timorous prey Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill; Too dangerous solitude appear'd; His harmless head he hopes to shroud. O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, Full lowly did the herdsman fall; Earnest the right-hand stranger pleads, "Unmanner'd dog! To stop my sport Were tenants of these carrion kine!" Again he winds his bugle horn, "Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" And through the herd in ruthless scorn He cheers his furious hounds to go. In heaps the throttled victims fall; Down sinks their mangled herdsman near; With blood besmear'd, and white with foam, The humble hermit's hallow'd bower. But man, and horse, and horn, and hound, The sacred chapel rung around With "Hark away! and holla, ho!" All mild amid the rout profane, The holy hermit pour'd his prayer; "The meanest brute has rights to plead, Still the fair horseman anxious pleads; But frantic keeps the forward way. "Holy or not, or right or wrong, Thy altar and its rights I spurn; Not sainted martyrs' sainted song, Not God Himself shall make me turn!" He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, And horse, and man, and horn, and hound, Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around; He listens for his trusty hounds; Still dark and darker frown the shades, And not a sound the still invades, Save what a distant torrent gave. High o'er the sinner's humbled head At length the solemn silence broke ; "Oppressor of creation fair! "Be chased forever through the wood : Twas hush'd: one flash of sombre glare And horror chill'd each nerve and bone. Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rili; Brought storm and tempest on its wing. Earth heard the call; her entrails rend; What ghastly huntsman next arose, The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn, Sir W. Scott. * Apostate, fallen, rebellious. Rift, opening, cleft. MEN OF ENGLAND. MEN of England! who inherit Rights that cost your sires their blood! By the foes you've fought uncounted, Yet remember, England gathers What are monuments of bravery, Pageants!-let the world revere us Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory, Worth a hundred Agincourts![] We're the sons of sires that baffled : They defied the field and scaffold Thos. Campbell. *Undegenerate, not having become worse. Breaches, gaps made in a fort by besiegers. Pageants, pompous shows. Civic, belonging to the city or state. i.e., fruitless French wars. |