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Home  »  The English Poets  »  Extract from The Chase, Book II

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

William Somerville (1675–1742)

Extract from The Chase, Book II

HERE on this verdant spot, where Nature kind,

With double blessings crowns the farmer’s hopes;

Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead

Affords the wand’ring hares a rich repast;

Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they spread

And range around, and dash the glitt’ring dew.

If some staunch hound, with his authentic voice,

Avow the recent trail, the justling tribe

Attend his call, then with one mutual cry,

The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills

Repeat the pleasing tale. See how they thread

The brakes, and up yon furrow drive along!

But quick they back recoil, and wisely check

Their eager haste; then o’er the fallowed ground

How leisurely they work, and many a pause

Th’ harmonious concert breaks; till more assured

With joy redoubled the low valleys ring.

What artful labyrinths perplex their way!

Ah! there she lies; how close! she pants, she doubts

If now she lives; she trembles as she sits,

With horror seized. The withered grass that clings

Around her head, of the same russet hue

Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes

With life full-beaming her vain wiles betrayed.

At distance draw thy pack, let all be hushed,

No clamour loud, no frantic joy be heard,

Lest the wild hound run gadding o’er the plain

Untractable, nor hear thy chiding voice.

Now gently put her off; see how direct

To her known Muse she flies! Here, huntsman, bring

(But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds,

And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop,

And seem to plough the ground! then all at once

With greedy nostrils snuff the fuming steam

That glads their flutt’ring hearts. As winds let loose

From the dark caverns of the blustering God,

They burst away, and sweep the dewy lawn.

Hope gives them wings while she ’s spurred on by fear.

The welkin rings, men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods

In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths,

Stripped for the chace, give all your souls to joy!

See how their coursers, than the mountain roe

More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick clouds

Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print

The grass unbruised; with emulation fired

They strain to lead the field, top the barred gate,

O’er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush

The thorny-twining hedge; the riders bend

O’er their arched necks; with steady hands, by turns

Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage.

Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs,

Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone,

And with the panting winds lag far behind.