From the vain bride, ah! bride no more!
The varying crimson fled,
When stretch'd before her rival's corpse
She saw her husband dead.
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,
For ever he remains.
Oft at this grave the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen ;
With garlands gay and true-love knots
. They deck the sacred green.
But, swain forsworn! whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.
[WILLIAM SOMERVILLE was born in the year 1692, at the family seat at Edstone, in Warwickshire. He was educated at Winchester School, and afterwards at New College, Oxford. He passed the chief part of his life at the residence of his ancestors, and occupied himself with the duties of a country magistrate, the active life of a keen sportsman, and the cultivation of his poetic talents.
Somerville's Chase" has always been a favourite with lovers of country life, and has often been reprinted.]
NEXT will I sing the valiant falcon's fame:
Aërial fights, where no confed'rate brute
Joins in the bloody fray; but bird with bird
Justs in mid-air. Lo! at his siege the hern,
Upon the bank of some small purling brook,
Observant stands to take his scaly prize,
Himself another's game. For mark behind
The wily falconer creeps his grazing horse
Conceals the treacherous foe, and on his fist
Th' unhooded falcon sits: with eager eyes
She meditates her prey, and, in her wild
Conceit, already plumes the dying bird.
Up springs the hern, redoubling every stroke,
Conscious of danger, stretches far away,
With busy pennons and projected beak,
Piercing th' opponent clouds: the falcon swift
Follows at speed, mounts as he mounts, for hope
Gives vigour to her wings. Another soon
Strains after to support the bold attack,
Perhaps a third.
Warm glows the conflict, every nerve's employ'd;
Now through the yielding element they soar
Aspiring high, then sink at once, and rove
In trackless mazes through the troubled sky.
No rest, no peace. The falcon hovering flies
Balanced in air, and confidently bold
Hangs o'er him like a cloud, then aims her blow
Full at his destined head. The watchful hern
Shoots from her like a blazing meteor swift
That gilds the night, eludes her talons keen
And pointed beak, and gains a length of way.
Observe th' attentive crowd; all hearts are fix'd
On this important war, and pleasing hope
Glows in each breast. The vulgar and the great,
Equally happy now, with freedom share
The common joy. The shepherd-boy forgets
His bleating care; the labouring hind lets fall
His grain unsown; in transport lost, he robs
Th' expecting furrow, and in wild amaze
The gazing village point their eyes to heaven.
Where is the tongue can speak the falconer's cares
'Twixt hopes and fears, as in a tempest tost?
His fluttering heart, his varying cheeks confess
His inward woe. Now like a wearied stag,
That stands at bay, the hern provokes their rage;
Close by his languid wing, in downy plumes
Covers his fatal beak, and cautious hides
The well-dissembled fraud. The falcon darts
Like lightning from above, and in her breast
Receives the latent death: down plump she falls
Bounding from earth, and with her trickling gore
Defiles her gaudy plumage. See, alas!
The falconer in despair, his favourite bird
Dead at his feet, as of his dearest friend
He weeps her fate; he meditates revenge,
He storms, he foams, he gives a loose to rage:
Nor wants he long the means. The hern fatigued,
Borne down by numbers yields, and prone on earth
He drops: his cruel foes, wheeling around,
Insult at will. The vengeful falconer flies
Swift as an arrow shooting to their aid;
Then, muttering inward curses, breaks his wings.
And fixes in the ground his hated beak;
Sees with malignant joy the victors proud
Smear'd with his blood, and on his marrow feast.
IS instinct that directs the jealous Hare
To choose her soft abode. With steps reversed She forms the doubling maze; then, ere the morn Peeps through the clouds, leaps to her close recess. As wandering shepherds on th' Arabian plains No settled residence observe, but shift Their moving camp; now, on some cooler hill, With cedars crown'd, court the refreshing breeze; And then below, where trickling streams distil From some precarious source, their thirst allay, And feed their thirsting flocks: so the wise hares Oft quit their seats, lest some more curious eye
Should mark their haunts, and by dark treacherous wiles Plot their destruction; or, perchance in hopes
Of plenteous forage, near the ranker mead
Or matted grass, wary and close they sit.
When Spring shines forth, season of love and joy,
In the moist marsh, 'mong bed of rushes hid,
They cool their boiling blood. When Summer suns
Bake the cleft earth, to thick, wide-spreading fields
Of corn full-grown, they lead their helpless young:
But when autumnal torrents and fierce rains
Deluge the vale, in the dry crumbling bank
Their forms they delve, and cautiously avoid
The dripping covert. Yet, when Winter's cold
Their limbs benumbs, thither with speed return'd,
In the long grass they skulk, or shrinking creep
Among the wither'd leaves; thus changing still,
As fancy prompts them, or as food invites.
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