THE DYING HUNTER TO HIS DOG
Lie down, lie down, my noble hound!
That joyful bark give o’er;
It wakes the lonely echoes round,
But rouses me no more.
Thy lifted ears, thy swelling chest,
Thine eye so keenly bright,
No longer kindle in my breast
The thrill of fierce delight;
As following thee, on foaming steed,
My eager soul outstripp’d thy speed.
Lie down, lie down, my faithful hound!
And watch this night with
me.
For thee again the horn shall sound,
By mountain, stream, and tree;
And thou, along the forest glade,
Shall track the flying deer
When, cold and silent, I am laid
In chill oblivion here.
Another voice shall cheer thee on,
And glory when the chase is won.
Lie down, lie down, my gallant hound!
Thy master’s life is
sped;
And, couch’d upon the dewy ground,
’Tis thine to watch
the dead.
But when the blush of early day
Is kindling in the sky,
Then speed thee, faithful friend, away,
And to my Agnes hie;
And guide her to this lonely spot,
Though my closed eyes behold her not.
Lie down, lie down, my trusty hound!
Death comes, and now we part.
In my dull ear strange murmurs sound—
More faintly throbs my heart;
The many twinkling lights of Heaven
Scarce glimmer in the blue—
Chill round me falls the breath of even,
Cold on my brow the dew;
Earth, stars, and heavens are lost to
sight—
The chase is o’er!—brave
friend, good-night!
CHAPTER XI
THE CHARIVARI
Our fate is seal’d! ’Tis
now in vain to sigh
For home, or friends, or country
left behind.
Come, dry those tears, and lift the downcast
eye
To the high heaven of hope,
and be resign’d;
Wisdom and time will justify the deed,
The eye will cease to weep, the heart
to bleed.
Love’s thrilling sympathies, affections
pure,
All that endear’d and
hallow’d your lost home,
Shall on a broad foundation, firm and
sure,
Establish peace; the wilderness
become,
Dear as the distant land you fondly prize,
Or dearer visions that in memory rise.
The moan of the wind tells of the coming rain that it bears upon its wings; the deep stillness of the woods, and the lengthened shadows they cast upon the stream, silently but surely foreshow the bursting of the thunder-cloud; and who that has lived for any time upon the coast, can mistake the language of the waves; that deep prophetic surging that ushers in the terrible gale? So it is with the human heart—it has its mysterious warnings, its fits of sunshine and shade, of storm and calm, now elevated with anticipations of joy, now depressed by dark presentiments of ill.