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Llewelyn gazed with fierce surprise ;

Unused such looks to meet, His favorite checked his joyful guise,

And crouched, and licked his feet.

Onward, in haste, Llewelyn passed,

And on went Gêlert too;
And still, where'er his eyes he cast,

Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.

Hot-steaming, up behind him come again
The inhuman rout, and from the shady depth
Expel him, circling through his every shift.
He sweeps the forest oft ; and sobbing sees
The glades, mild opening to the golden day,
Where, in kind contest, with his butting friends
He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy.
Oft in the full-descending flood he tries '
To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides;
Oft seeks the herd; the watchful herd, alarmed,
With selfish care avoid a brother's woe.
What shall he do? His once so vivid nerves,
So full of buoyant spirit, now no more
Inspire the course ; but fainting breathless toil,
Sick, seizes on his heart: he stands at bay;
And puts his last weak refuge in despair.
The big round tears run down his dappled face ;
He groans in anguish ; while the growling pack,
Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest,
And mark his beauteous checkered sides with gore

O'erturned his infant's bed he found,

With blood-stained covert rent ; And all around the walls and ground

With recent blood besprent.

He called his child, — no voice replied,

He searched with terror wild ; Blood, blood he found on every side,

But nowhere found his child.

JAMES THOMSON.

“Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured,"

The frantic father cried ;
And to the hilt his vengeful sword

He plunged in Gelert's side.

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But nearer was the copsewood gray
That waved and wept on Loch-Achray,
And mingled with the pine-trees blue
On the bold cliffs of Benvenue.
Fresh vigor with the hope returned,
With flying foot the heath he spurned,
Held westward with unwearied race,
And left behind the panting chase.

As Chief who hears his warder call,
“ To arms! the foemen storin the wall,”
The antlered monarch of the waste
Sprung from his heathery' couch in haste.
But, ere his fleet career he took,
The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ;
Like crested leader proud and high
Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky;
A moment gazed adown the dale,
A moment snuffed the tainted gale,
A moment listened to the cry,
That thickened as the chase drew nigh;
Then, as the headmost foes appeared,
With one brave bound the copse he cleared,
And, stretching forward free and far,
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.

'T were 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.
Few were the stragglers, following far,
That reached the lake of Vennachar ;
And when the Brigg of Turk was won,
The headmost horseman rode alone.

Yelled on the view the opening pack;
Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back ;
To many a mingled sound at once
The awakened mountain gave response.
A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong,
Clattered a hundred steeds along,
Their peal the merry horns rung out,
A hundred voices joined the shout;
With hark and whoop and wild halloo.
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew
Far from the tumult fled the roe ;
Close in her covert cowered the doe;
The falcon, from her cairn on high,
Cast on the rout a wondering eye,
Till far beyond her piercing ken
The hurricane had swept the glen.
Faint, and more faint, its failing din
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn,
And silence settled, wide and still,
On the lone wood and mighty hill.

Alone, but with unbated zeal,
That horseman piled the scourge and steel;
For, jaded now, and spent with toil,
Embossed with foam, and dark with soil,
While every gasp with sobs he drew,
The laboring stag strained full in view.
Two dogs of black St. Hubert's breed,
Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed,
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 bloodhounds stanch;
Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
Nor farther might the quarry strain.
Thus up the margin of the lake,
Between the precipice and brake,
O'er stock and rock their race they take.

Less loud the sounds of sylvan war
Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var,
And roused the cavern, where, 't is told,
A giant made his den of old ;
For ere that steep ascent was won,
High in his pathway hung the sun,
And many a gallant, stayed perforce,
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse,
And of the trackers of the deer,
Scarce half the lessening pack was near ;
So shrewdly on the mountain-side
Had the bold burst their mettle tried.
The noble stag was pausing now
Upon the mountain's southern brow,
Where broad extended, far beneath,
The varied realms of fair Menteith.
With anxious eye he wandered o'er
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor,

And pondered refuge from his toil, · By far Lochard or Aberfoyle.

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
Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew;
But thundering as he came prepared,
With ready ann and weapon bared,
The wily quarry shunned the shock,
And turned him from the opposing rock;
Then, dashing down a darksome glen,
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,
In the deep Trosachs' 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

No more at dawning morn I rise, Rave through the hollow pass amain,

And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, Chiding the rocks that yelled again.

Drive the fleet deer the forest through,

And homeward wend with evening dew; Close on the hounds the hunter came,

A blithesome welcome blithely meet, To cheer them on the vanished game;

And lay my trophies at her feet, But, stumbling in the rugged dell,

While fled the eve on, wing of glee, – The gallant horse exhausted fell.

That life is lost to love and me! The impatient rider strove in vain

SIR WALTER SCOTT. To rouse him with the spur and rein, For the good steed, his labors o'er, Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more ; Then, touched with pity and remorse, THE ARAB TO HIS FAVORITE STEED. He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse. “I little thought, when first thy rein I slacked upon the banks of Seine,

My beautiful ! my beautiful ! that standest meekThat Highland eagle e'er should feed

ly by, On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed!

With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day,

dark and fiery eye, That costs thy life, my gallant gray !" Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy

wingéd speed ; Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds.

I may not mount on thee again, — thou 'rt sold, Back limped, with slow and crippled pace,

my Arab steed!

Fret not with that impatient hoof, - snuff not the The sulky leaders of the chase ;

breezy wind, — Close to their master's side they pressed, With drooping tail and humbled crest;

The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind;

The stranger hath thy bridle-rein, — thy master But still the dingle's hollow throat

hath his gold, Prolonged the swelling bugle-note.

Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell; thou 'rt The owlets started from their dream,

sold, my steed, thou 'rt sold.
The eagles answered with their scream,
Round and around the sounds were cast,

II.
Till echo seemed an answering blast;
And on the Hunter hied his way,

Farewell ! those free, untiréd limbs full many a To join some comrades of the day ;

mile must roam, Yet often paused, so strange the road,

To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds So wondrous were the scenes it showed.

the stranger's home ; Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn

and bed prepare, Thy silky mane, I braided once, must be another's

care ! LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN.

The morning sun shall dawn again, but never My hawk is tired of perch and hood,

more with thee My idle greyhound loathes his food, Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where My horse is weary of his stall,

we were wont to be ; And I am sick of captive thrall.

Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the I wish I were as I have been,

sandy plain Hunting the hart in forest green,

Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me With bended bow and bloodhound free, | home again. For that's the life is meet for me. I hate to learn the ebb of time

Yes, thou must go ! the wild, free breeze, the brilFrom yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,

liant sun and sky, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,

Thy master's house, -- from all of these my exiled Inch after inch, along the wall.

one must fly; The lark was wont my matins ring, Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy The sable rook my vespers sing ;

step become less fleet, These towers, although a king's they be, And yainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy masHave not a hall of joy for me.

ter's hand to meet.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

III.

CAROLINE E. NORTON.

IV.

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Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye, | Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and scour the glancing bright ;

distant plains ; Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for and light;

his pains ! And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or

cheer thy speed, Then must I, starting, wake to feel, — thou 'rt sold, my Arab steed!

SLEIGH SONG.

JINGLE, jingle, clear the way, Ah ! rudely, then, unseen by me, some cruel hand

'Tis the merry, merry sleigh, may chide,

As it swiftly scuds along Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along

Hear the burst of happy song, thy panting side :

See the gleam of glances bright, And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy

Flashing o'er the pathway white. indignant pain,

Jingle, jingle, past it flies, Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count

Sending shafts from hooded eyes,

Roguish archers, I 'll be bound, each starting vein. Will they ill-use thee ? If I thought — but no,

Little heeding who they wound; it cannot be,

See them, with capricious pranks, Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed ; so gentle,

Ploughing now the drifted banks ; yet so free :

Jingle, jingle, mid the glee And yet, if haply, when thou 'rt gone, my lonely

Who among them cares for me? heart should yearn, —

Jingle, jingle, on they go, Can the hand which casts thee from it now com

Capes and bonnets white with snow, mand thee to return?

Not a single robe they fold
To protect them from the cold;

Jingle, jingle, mid the storm,
Return / alas ! my Arab steed! what shall thy

Fun and frolic keep them warm ; master do,

Jingle, jingle, down the hills, When thou, who wast his all of joy, hast vanished

O'er the meadows, past the mills, from his view ?

Now 't is slow, and now 't is fast ; When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and

Winter will not always last. through the gathering tears

Jingle, jingle, clear the way, Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false 'Tis the merry, merry sleigh.

G. W. PETTEE. mirage appears ; Slow and unmounted shall I roam, with weary

step alone, Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou

OUR SKATER BELLE. oft hast borne me on; And sitting down by that green well, I'll pause ALONG the frozen lake she comes and sadly think,

In linking crescents, light and fleet; “ It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last | The ice-imprisoned Undine hums I saw him drink !" .

A welcome to her little feet.

I see the jaunty hat, the plume When last I saw thee drink! — Away! the fevered,

Swerve bird-like in the joyous gale,

| The cheeks lit up to burning bloom, dream is o'er, I could not live a day, and know that we should the young eyes sparking througa me velt. meet no more !

The quick breath parts her laughing lips, They tempted me, my beautiful ! — for hunger's The white neck shines through tossing curis ; power is strong, —

Her vesture gently sways and dips,
They tempted me, my beautiful ! but I have As on she speeds in shell-like whorls.

loved too long.
Who said that I had given thee up? who said Men stop and smile to see her go ;
that thou wast sold ?

They gaze, they smile in pleased surprise ; "T is false, — 't is false, my Arab steed! I fling They ask her name; they long to show them back their gold !

| Some silent friendship in their eyes.

VI.

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