The mountain's height, and all the ridges round, Albania-reprinted in Scottish Descriptive Poems, A posthumous miracle of Father Lesley, a Scottish capuchin, related to his being buried on a hill haunted by these unearthly cries of hounds and huntsmen. After his sainted relics had been deposited there, the noise was never heard more. The reader will find this, and other miracles, recorded in the life of Father Bonaventura, which is written in the choicest Italian. 24* THE WILD HUNTSMAN. [1796.'] THE Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, The eager pack, from couples freed, Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake; While answering hound, and horn, and steed, The mountain echoes startling wake. 1 The beams of God's own hallow'd day Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd: But still the Wildgrave onward rides; When, spurring from opposing sides, Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. Who was each Stranger, left and right, [Published (1796) with William and Helen, and entitled "THE CHACE."] The right-hand Horseman, young and fair, He waved his huntsman's cap on high, Cried, "Welcome, welcome, noble lord! "Cease thy loud bugle's changing knell," 66 Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise. To-day the ill-omen'd chase forbear, Yon bell yet summons to the fane; To-day the Warning Spirit hear, To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain." "Away, and sweep the glades along!" The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed, 66 Hence, if our manly sport offend! With pious fools go chant and pray:— Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend: Halloo, halloo! and, hark away!" The Wildgrave spurr'd his courser light, Each Stranger Horseman follow'd still. Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, A heedless wretch has cross'd the way; 66 Still, Forward, forward!" on they go. See, where yon simple fences meet, “O mercy, mercy, noble lord! Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, "Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd, In scorching hour of fierce July.”— Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, "Away, thou hound! so basely born, Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!"— Then loudly rung his bugle horn, "Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" So said, so done:-A single bound Clears the poor labourer's humble pale; Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, Like dark December's stormy gale. And man and horse, and hound and horn, Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. Again uproused, the timorous prey Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill; Hard run, he feels his strength decay, And trusts for life his simple skill. Too dangerous solitude appear'd; He seeks the shelter of the crowd; Amid the flock's domestic herd His harmless head he hopes to shroud. O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, Full lowly did the herdsman fall;— "O spare, thou noble Baron, spare These herds, a widow's little all; These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care!" Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, |