« 前へ次へ »
The palfrey sprung with sprightly hound,
As if to match the gamesome hound;
His horn the gallant huntsman wound.-
Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame,
The chase engross'd theirjoys and woes,
Now is the thrilling moment near
Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear,
Yon thicket holds the harbour’d deer,
With eyes of flame,‘ and quivering ears,
The brake sagacious Keehlar nears;
The restless palfrey paws and rears;
The game's afoot!—halloo! halloo!
Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue;
But woe the shaft that erring flew-
And ill betide the faithless yew‘.
The stag bounds scatheless o'er the dew,
And gallant Keeldar’s life-blood true
The noble hound!-—he dies, he dies,
Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes,
Stiff on the bloody heath he lies,
Now day may break and bugle sound,
And whoop and hollow ring around,
And o’er his couch the stag may bound, But Kecldar sleeps for ever.
Dilated nostrils, staring eyes,
Mark the poor palfrey’ s mute surprise;
He knows not that his comrade dies,
His aspect hath expression drear
Of grief, and wonder, mix'd with fear,
Like startled children when they hear Some mystic tale of ill.
But he that bent the fatal bow
Can well the sum of evil know,
And o'er his favourite bending low, In speechless grief recline;
Can think he hears the senseless clay
In uureproachful accents say
uThe hand that took my life away, Dear master, was it thine?
, Tax curtain drops—the mimic scene is past—
One word remains, the saddest and the last.
A word which oft iu carele_ss mood we say,
When friends must sever or when lovers part:
_ Are the faint mournful accents, fare-ye-well!
Bcdims my eye to think our parting ncar—
The wanderer may rejoice to view once more,
Yet oft in mingled dreams ofjoy and pain
She 'd think she sees this bcauteous land again;
Lingering, as if they fear'd to break some spell—
It must be utter'd!-friends, kind friends, farewell!
To the dear relative I leave behind.
He is your own, and like yourselves may claim
His opening talents,—let the truth be told,
A sister in a brother's cause is bold
Shall cater for your eve of leisure still
With equal ardour, and improving skill.
And though too oft the poor performefs lot
ls but to bloom, to fade, and be forgot, Whene’cr the mimic sceptre they resign
A gentler destiny, I feel, is mine;
For, as the brother moves before your eyes,
And in your hearts a kind rememhrancerdwell
Or yore, in old England, it was not thought good
To carry two visages under one hood;
What should folks say to you, who have faces such plenl y. That from under one hood you lastnightshow'd us twen Ky?Stand forth, arch cleceiver! and tell us, in truth, i Are you handsome or ugly? in age, or in youth?
Man, woman, or child? or a dog, or a mouse?
Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house? Each live thing did I ask? each dead implement too? A work-shop in your person— saw, chisel, and screw ” Above all, are you one individual? I know
You must be, at the least, Alexandre and Co.
But I think you 're a troop-—an assemblage—a mobAnd that I, as the sheriff, must take up thejob,
And, instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse,
Must read you the riot-act, and bid you disperse!