But nearer was the copse-wood gray, Fresh vigour with the hope returned, And left behind the panting chase. VI. 'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er, As swept the hunt through Cambus-more; What reins were tightened in despair, When rose Benledi's ridge in air; Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath, Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith, For twice, that day, from shore to shore, The gallant Stag swam stoutly o'er. And when the Brigg of Turk was won, The headmost Horseman rode alone. VII. Alone, but with unbated zeal, That horseman plied the scourge and steel; Embossed with foam, and dark with soil, Fast on his flying traces came, And all but won that desperate game; For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch, Vindictive toiled the blood-hounds staunch; Nor nearer might the dogs attain, Thus up the margin of the lake, Between the precipice and brake, O'er stock and rock their race they take. VIII. The hunter marked that mountain high, The lone lake's western boundary, And deemed the Stag must turn to bay, Where that huge rampart barred the way; Already glorying in the prize, Measured his antlers with his eyes; For the death-wound, and death-halloo, Then, dashing down a darksome glen, In the deep Trosach's wildest nook His solitary refuge took. There while, close couched, the thicket shed Cold dews and wild flowers on his head, He heard the baffled dogs in vain Rave through the hollow pass amain, Chiding the rocks, that yelled again. IX. Close on the hounds the hunter came, But, stumbling in the rugged dell, That costs thy life, my gallant grey !" X. Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds. Back limped, with slow and crippled pace, The sulky leaders of the chase ; Close to their master's side they pressed, But still the dingle's hollow throat |