No more a lover, but a mortal foe, Which, with her entrails, makes my hungry hounds a feast. Nor lies she long, but, as her fates ordain, Springs up to life, and fresh to second Her heart and bowels thro' her back he drew, And fed the hounds that help'd him to pursue. 209 Pursue their prey, and seek their wonted food; But dreams, he knew, no long impression make, Tho' strong at first; if vision, to what end, But such as must his future state portend, His love the damsel, and himself the fiend? But yet reflecting that it could not be From Heav'n, which cannot impious acts decree, Resolv'd within himself to shun the snare Which Hell for his destruction did prepare; And, as his better genius should direct, From an ill cause to draw a good effect. 230 Inspir'd from Heav'n, he homeward took his way, Nor pall'd his new design with long delay; Reduc'd to bounds, by timely providence. Her friends, and mine; the cause I shall display, On Friday next, for that's th' appointed day." Well pleas'd were all his friends, the task was light; The father, mother, daughter, they invite; cence. The place ordain'd was in that haunted grove Where the revenging ghost pursued his love; The tables in a proud pavilion spread, With flow'rs below, and tissue overhead: The rest in rank; Honoria, chief in place, Was artfully contriv'd to set her face 260 To front the thicket, and behold the chase. The fiend's alarm began; the hollow sound Sung in the leaves, the forest shook around, Air blacken'd, roll'd the thunder, groan'd the ground. Nor long before the loud laments arise Of one distress'd, and mastiffs' mingled cries; And first the dame came rushing thro' the wood, And next the famish'd hounds that sought their food, 270 And grip'd her flanks, and oft essay'd their jaws in blood, Last came the felon, on the sable steed, Arm'd with his naked sword, and urg'd his dogs to speed. She ran, and cried; her flight directly |