THE KNIGHT had ridden down from Wensley Moor, | |
| With the slow motion of a summer’s cloud; | |
| And now, as he approached a vassal’s door, | |
| “Bring forth another horse!” he cried aloud. | |
| |
| “Another horse!” That shout the vassal heard, | 5 |
| And saddled his best steed, a comely gray. | |
| Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third | |
| Which he had mounted on that glorious day. | |
| |
| Joy sparkled in the prancing courser’s eyes; | |
| The horse and horseman are a happy pair; | 10 |
| But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies, | |
| There is a doleful silence in the air. | |
| |
| A rout this morning left Sir Walter’s Hall, | |
| That as they galloped made the echoes roar; | |
| But horse and man are vanished, one and all: | 15 |
| Such race, I think, was never seen before. | |
| |
| Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind, | |
| Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain; | |
| Blanch, Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind, | |
| Follow, and up the weary mountain strain. | 20 |
| |
| The knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on | |
| With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern; | |
| But breath and eyesight fail, and, one by one, | |
| The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern. | |
| |
| Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? | 25 |
| The bugles that so joyfully were blown? | |
| This chase it looks not like an earthly chase; | |
| Sir Walter and the hart are left alone. | |
| |
| The poor hart toils along the mountain-side; | |
| I will not stop to tell how far he fled, | 30 |
| Nor will I mention by what death he died; | |
| But now the knight beholds him lying dead. | |
| |
| Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn; | |
| He had no follower, dog nor man nor boy: | |
| He neither cracked his whip nor blew his horn, | 35 |
| But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy. | |
| |
| Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned | |
| Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat; | |
| Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned, | |
| And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet. | 40 |
| |
| Upon his side the hart was lying stretched; | |
| His nostril touched a spring beneath a hill, | |
| And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched | |
| The waters of the spring were trembling still. | |
| |
| And now, too happy for repose or rest, | 45 |
| (Never had living man such joyful lot!) | |
| Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west, | |
| And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot. | |
| |
| And climbing up the hill (it was at least | |
| Four roods of sheer ascent), Sir Walter found | 50 |
| Three several hoof-marks which the hunted beast | |
| Had left imprinted on the grassy ground. | |
| |
| Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, “Till now | |
| Such sight was never seen by human eyes; | |
| Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow | 55 |
| Down to the very fountain where he lies. | |
| |
| “I ’ll build a pleasure-house upon this spot, | |
| And a small arbor, made for rural joy; | |
| ’T will be the traveller’s shed, the pilgrim’s cot, | |
| A place of love for damsels that are coy. | 60 |
| |
| “A cunning artist will I have to frame | |
| A basin for that fountain in the dell! | |
| And they who do make mention of the same | |
| From this day forth shall call it Hart-Leap Well. | |
| |
