16 RURAL SPORTS.

N

GANTO II

2755

OW, fporting Mufe, draw in the flowing reins, Leave the clear ftreams a while for funny plains. Should you the various arms and toils rehearse, And all the fisherman adorn thy verfe; Should you the wide encircling net display, And in its spacious arch inclofe the fea, Then haul the plunging load upon the land, And with the foal and turbot hide the fand; It would extend the growing theme too long, And tire the reader with the watry song.

Let the keen hunter from the chase refrain, Nor render all the plowman's labour vain,. When Ceres pours out plenty from her horn, And clothes the fields with golden ears of corn. Now, now, ye reapers, to your task repair, Hafte, fave the product of the bounteous year: To the wide-gathering hook long furrows yield, And rifing fheaves extend through all the field.

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Yet

Yet if for fylvan sport thy bofom glow,
Let thy fleet greyhound urge his flying foe.
With what delight the rapid course I view !
How does my eye the circling race purfue!
He snaps deceitful air with empty jaws,
The fubtle hare darts swift beneath his paws;
She flies, he ftretches, now with nimble bound,
Eager he preffes on, but overshoots his ground;
She turns, he winds, and foon regains the way,
Then tears with goary mouth the screaming prey.
What various sport does rural life afford!
What unbought dainties heap the wholfom board!

Nor less the spaniel skilful to betray,
Rewards the fowler with the feather'd prey.
Soon as the lab'ring horfe with fwelling veins,
Hath fafely hous'd the farmer's doubtful gains,
To sweet repaft th' unwary partridge flies,
With joy amid the scatter'd harvest lies;
Wandring in plenty, danger he forgets,
Nor dreads the flav'ry of entangling nets.
The fubtle dog fcours with fagacious nofe

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Along the field, and fnuffs each breeze that blows, 310.

Against

Against the wind he takes his prudent way,
While the ftrong gale directs him to the prey;.
Now the warm fcent affures the covey near,

He treads with caution, and he points with fear;

Then (left fome fentry fowl the fraud defcry,

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And bid his fellows from the danger fly)
Clofe to the ground in expectation lies,
Till in the snare the flutt'ring covey rise,
Soon as the blushing light begins to spread,

And glancing Phoebus gilds the mountain's head,

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His early flight th' ill-fated partridge takes,
And quits the friendly fhelter of the brakes:
Or when the fun cafts a declining ray,

And drives his chariot down the western way,

Let your obfequious ranger fearch around,

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Where yellow ftubble withers on the ground:

Nor will the roving spy direct in vain,

But numerous covies gratify thy pain.
When the meridian fun contracts the shade,
And frisking heifers feek the cooling glade,

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Or when the country floats with fudden rains,
Or driving mifts deface the moift'ned plains;
In vain his toils th' unskilful fowler tries,
While in thick woods the feeding partridge lies.

Nor

Nor must the sporting verfe the gun forbear, But what's the fowler's be the mufe's care.

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Şee how the well-taught pointer leads the way:
The scent grows warm; he ftops; he springs the prey;
The flutt'ring coveys from the stubble rise,

And on swift wing divide the founding skies;

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The scatt'ring lead pursues the certain fight,
And death in thunder overtakes their flight.
Cool breathes the morning air, and winter's hand
Spreads wide her hoary mantle o'er the land;
Now to the copfe thy leffer spaniel take,

Teach him to range the ditch and force the brake;
Not clofeft coverts can protect the game:

Hark! the dog opens; take thy certain aim;
The woodcock flutters; how he wav'ring flies!
The wood refounds: he wheels, he drops, he dies.

The tow'ring hawk let future poets fing,
Who terror bears upon his foaring wing:

Let them on high the frighted hern furvey,
And lofty numbers paint their airy fray.
Nor fhall the mountain lark the mufe detain,
That greets the morning with his early strain;

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When

When, midft his fong, the twinkling glass betrays,
While from each angle flash the glancing rays,
And in the fun the tranfient colours blaze:
Pride lures the little warbler from the skies,
The light enamour'd bird deluded dies.

But still the chafe, a pleafing task, remains;
The hound muft open in these rural strains.
Soon as Aurora drives away the night,
And edges eastern clouds with rofy light,

The healthy huntsman, with a chearful horn,

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Summons the dogs, and greets the dappled morn;
The jocund thunder wakes th' enliven'd hounds,
They roufe from fleep, and anfwer founds for founds;
Wide through the furzy field their route they take,
Their bleeding bofoms force the thorny brake:

The flying game their fmoaking noftrils trace,
No bounding hedge obftructs their eager pace;
The diftant mountains echo from afar,

And hanging woods refound the flying war:

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The tuneful noife the fprightly courfer hears,

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Paws the green turf, and pricks his trembling ears;

The flacken'd rein now gives him all his speed,

Back flies the rapid ground beneath the fteed;,