THE

WILD HUNTSMEN.

THE Wildgrave winds his bugle horn,
To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo !

His fiery courser snuffs the morn,

And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

The eager pack, from couples freed,

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake; While answering hound, and horn, and steed, The mountain echoes startling wake.

The beams of God's own hallowed day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,

And, calling sinful man to pray,

Loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled:

But still the Wildgrave onward rides ; Halloo! halloo ! and, hark again! When, spurring from opposing sides, Two Stranger Horsemen join the train.

Who was each Stranger, left and right,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell;
The right-hand steed was silver white,
The left, the swarthy hue of hell.

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, Cried, "Welcome, welcome, noble lord! What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,

To match the princely chase afford?"

"Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; "And for devotion's choral swell,

Exchange the rude unhallowed noise,

"To-day, the ill-omened chase forbear,
Yon bell yet summons to the fane;
To-day the Warning Spirit hear,

To-morrow thou may'st mourn in vain.”

"Away, and sweep the glades along!"
The Sable Hunter hoarse replies;
"To muttering monks leave matin-song,
And bells, and books, and mysteries.'

The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed,
And, launching forward with a bound,
"Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede,
Would leave the jovial horn and hound ?

"Hence, if our manly sport offend !

With pious fools go chaunt and pray :Well hast thou spoke, my dark-browed friend; Halloo, halloo! and, hark away!".

The Wildgrave spurred his courser light,
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill;
And on the left, and on the right,

Each Stranger Horseman followed 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 crossed the way;
He gasps, the thundering hoofs below ;-
But, live who can, or die who may,

Still," Forward, forward!" on they go.

See, where yon simple fences meet,

A field with autumn's blessings crowned;
See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet,
A husbandman, with toil embrowned:

"O mercy, mercy, noble lord!

Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, "Earned by the sweat these brows have poured, In scorching hour of fierce July."

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads,
The left still cheering to the prey;
The impetuous Earl no warning heeds,
But furious holds the onward way.

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, Destructive sweep the field along;

While, joying o'er the wasted corn,

Fell Famine marks the maddening throng.

Again up-roused, 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 appeared;

He seeks the shelter of the crowd; Amid the flock's domestic herd

His harmless head he hopes to shroud.