Who was each Stranger, left and right, The right-hand Horseman, young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May ; The left, from eye of tawny glare, Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. He waved his huntsman's cap on high, "Cease thy loud bugle's changing knell," Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; "And for devotion's choral swell, Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise. "To-day, the ill-omen'd chase forbear, Yon bell yet summons to the fane; To-day the Warning Spirit hear, To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain.”— "Away, and sweep the glades along!" The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed, "Hence, if our manly sport offend! With pious fools go chant and pray:" "Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend; Halloo, halloo! and, hark away!" The Wildgrave spurr'd his courser light, Each Stranger Horseman follow'd still. Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, A stag more white than mountain snow; And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, "Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" A heedless wretch has cross'd the way; See, where yon simple fences meet, mercy, mercy, noble lord! Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, "Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd, In scorching hour of fierce July.”— Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, "Away, thou hound! so basely born, Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!"— Then loudly rung his bugle horn, "Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" So said, so done :-A single bound Clears the poor labourer's humble pale; Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, Like dark December's stormy gale. And man and horse, and hound and horn, While, joying o'er the wasted corn, Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. Again uproused, the timorous prey Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill; Hard run, he feels his strength decay, And trusts for life his simple skill. Too dangerous solitude appear'd; He seeks the shelter of the crowd: Amid the flock's domestic herd His harmless head he hopes to shroud. O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, Full lowly did the herdsman fall;· These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care!" Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, "Unmanner'd dog! To stop my sport Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, Though human spirits, of thy sort, 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 ; The murderous cries the stag appall,— Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. With blood besmear'd, and white with foam, While big the tears of anguish pour, He seeks, amid the forest's gloom, 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: "Forbear with blood God's house to stain; Revere his altar, and forbear! "The meanest brute has rites to plead, Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads; The Black, wild whooping, points the prey: Alas! the Earl no warning heeds, But frantic keeps the forward way. |