A mere pause from thinking! No bugle awakes him with life-and-death-call. CHORUS. But the hound bayeth loudly, The Boar's in the wood, And the Falcon longs proudly To spring from her hood: On the wrist of the Noble She sits like a crest, And the air is in trouble With birds from their nest. Cæsar. Oh! Shadow of glory! Dim image of war! But the chace hath no story, Her hero no star, Since Nimrod, the Founder Of empire and chace, Who made the woods wonder And quake for their race. |