From wood to wood, through every dark recess
  The forest thunders, and the mountains shake. 
  The chorus swells; less various, and less sweet
  The trilling notes, when in those very groves,
70
  The feathered choristers salute the spring,
  And every bush in concert joins; or when
  The master’s hand, in modulated air,
  Bids the loud organ breathe, and all the powers
  Of music in one instrument combine,
  An universal minstrelsy.  And now
  In vain each earth he tries, the doors are barred
  Impregnable, nor is the covert safe;
  He pants for purer air.  Hark! what loud shouts
  Re-echo through the groves! he breaks away,
80
  Shrill horns proclaim his flight.  Each straggling hound
  Strains o’er the lawn to reach the distant pack. 
  ’Tis triumph all and joy.  Now, my brave youths,
  Now give a loose to the clean generous steed;
  Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur;
  But in the madness of delight, forget
  Your fears.  Far o’er the rocky hills we range,
  And dangerous our course; but in the brave
  True courage never fails.  In vain the stream
  In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch
90
  Wide-gaping threatens death.  The craggy steep
  Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care,
  And clings to every twig, gives us no pain;
  But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold
  To pounce his prey.  Then up the opponent hill,
  By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft: 
  So ships in winter-seas now sliding sink
  Adown the steepy wave, then tossed on high
  Ride on the billows, and defy the storm. 
     What lengths we pass! where will the wandering chase
100
  Lead us bewildered! smooth as the swallows skim
  The new-shorn mead, and far more swift we fly. 
  See my brave pack! how to the head they press,
  Jostling in close array; then more diffuse
  Obliquely wheel, while from their opening mouths
  The vollied thunder breaks.  So when the cranes
  Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing
  Their figure oft they change, and their loud clang
  From cloud to cloud rebounds.  How far behind
  The hunter-crew, wide straggling o’er the plain!
110
  The panting courser now with trembling nerves
  Begins to reel; urged by the goring spur,
  Makes many a faint effort:  he snorts, he foams,
  The big round drops run trickling down his sides,
  With sweat and blood distained.  Look back and view
  The strange confusion of the vale below,
  Where sour vexation reigns; see yon poor jade,
  In vain the impatient rider frets and swears,
  With galling spurs harrows his mangled sides;
  He can no more:  his stiff unpliant limbs
120
  Rooted in earth, unmoved and fixed he stands,
  For every cruel curse returns a groan,
  And sobs, and faints, and dies.  Who without grief