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 mayst 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 chant 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.

Upsprings, 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,

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"0

A husbandman with toil embrowned:

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!"

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 uproused, 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.

O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill,
His track the steady bloodhounds trace;

O'er moss and moor, unwearied still,
The furious Earl pursues the chase.

Full lowly did the herdsman fall;

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"O spare, thou noble Baron, spare These herds, a widow's little all;

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care!"

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads,
The left still cheering to the prey;
The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds,
But furious keeps the onward way.

"Unmannered dog! To stop my sport, Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, Though human spirits, of thy sort,

Were tenants of these carrion kine!”

Again he winds his bugle horn,

"Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!"And through the herd in ruthless scorn, He cheers his furious hounds to go.

In heaps the throttled victims fall;

Down sinks their mangled herdsman near: The murderous cries the stag appall,Again he starts, new-nerved by fear.

With blood besmeared, and white with foam, While big the tears of anguish pour,

He seeks, amid the forest's gloom,

The humble hermit's hallowed bower.

But man and horse, and horn and hound,

Fast rattling on his traces go;

The sacred chapel rung around

With, "Hark away! and holla, ho!"

All mild, amid the rout profane,

The holy hermit poured his prayer: "Forbear with blood God's house to stain; Revere His altar, and forbear!

"The meanest brute has rights to plead, Which, wronged by cruelty, or pride, Draw vengeance on the ruthless head:

Be warned at length, and turn aside."