THERE is exhilaration in the chase

Not bodily only! Bursting from the woods,
Or having climbed some misty mountain's height,
When on our eyes a glorious prospect opes,
With rapture we the golden view embrace:

Then worshipping the sun on silver floods,
And blazing towers, and spires, and cities bright
With his reflected beams; and down the slopes

The tumbling torrents; from the forest-mass

Of darkness issuing, we with double force
Along the gaily-checker'd landscape pass,

And, bounding with delight, pursue our course.

It is a mingled rapture, and we find

The bodily spirit mounting to the mind.

Brydges.

ANCIENT HUNTING SONG.

HE hunt is up, the hunt is up!

Sing merrily we, the hunt is up:
The birds they sing,

The deer they fling,

Hey, nonny, nony, no ;

The hounds they cry,

The hunters fly,

Hey, trolilo, trololilo.

The hunt is up, the hunt is up!

Sing merrily we, the hunt is up!

The wood resounds

To hear the sounds,

Hey, nonny, nony, no;

The rocks report

This merry sport,

Hey, trolilo, trololilo.

The hunt is up, the hunt is up!

Sing merrily we, the hunt is up!

Then hie apace

Unto the chase,

Hey, nonny, nony, no!

While every thing

Doth sweetly sing

Hey, trolilo, trololilo,

The hunt is up, the hunt is up!

Sing merrily we, the hunt is up!

Anon

What glorious triumphs burst in every gale
Upon our ravish'd ears! The hunter's shout,
The clanging horns, swell their sweet-winding notes;
The pack wide opening load the trembling air
With various melody; from tree to tree
The propagated cry redoubling bounds,
And winged zepoyrs waft the floating joy
Through all the regions near: afflictive birch
No more the schoolboy dreads; his prison broke,
Scampering he flies, nor heeds his master's call;
The weary traveller forgets his road,

And climbs th' adjacent hill: the ploughman leaves
Th' unfinish'd furrow; nor his bleating flocks are now
The shepherd's joy! Men, boys, and girls
Desert th' unpeopled village, and wild crowds
Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seized.
Look, how she pants! and o'er yon opening glade
Slips glancing by! while, at the farther end,

The puzzled pack unravel wile by wile,
Maze within maze.

But hold! I see her from her covert break ;

Sad on yon little eminence she sits;

Intent she listens, with one ear erect,

Pondering, and doubtful what new course to take,
And how t' escape the fierce, bloodthirsty crew
That still urge on, and still in valleys loud.
Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress.
As now in louder peals the loaded winds
Bring on the gathering storm, her fears prevail,
And o'er the plain, and o'er the mountain's ridge,
Away she flies; nor ships with wind and tide.
And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast

Once more, ye jovial train, your courage try,
And each clean courser's speed. We scour along,

In pleasing hurry and confusion lost!
Oblivion to be wished. The patient pack
Hang on the scent unwearied; up they climb,
And ardent we pursue; our labouring steeds
We press, we gore; till once the summit gained,
Painfully panting, there we breathe awhile;
Then, like a foaming torrent, pouring down
Precipitant, we smoke along the vale.
Happy the man who with unrivalled speed
Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view
The struggling pack; how in the rapid course
Alternate they preside, and jostling push
To guide the dubious scent; how giddy youth,
Oft babbling, errs, by wiser age reproved;
How niggard of his strength, the wise old hound
Hangs in the rear, till some important point
Rouse all his diligence, or till the chase
Sinking he finds: then to the head he springs,
With thirst of glory fired, and wins the prize,

See, see, she flies! each eager hound exerts
His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve.
How quick she turns! their gaping jaws eludes,
And yet a moment lives; till, round inclosed
By all the greedy pack, with infant screams
She yields her breath, and there reluctant dies!

Somerville.