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From “The Seasons: Autumn”
THE STAG too, singled from the herd where long | |
| He ranged, the branching monarch of the shades, | |
| Before the tempest drives. At first, in speed | |
| He, sprightly, puts his faith; and, roused by fear, | |
| Gives all his swift aerial soul to flight. | 5 |
| Against the breeze he darts, that way the more | |
| To leave the lessening murderous cry behind: | |
| Deception short! though fleeter than the winds | |
| Blown o’er the keen-aired mountain by the north, | |
| He bursts the thickets, glances through the glades, | 10 |
| And plunges deep into the wildest wood,— | |
| If slow, yet sure, adhesive to the track | |
| Hot-steaming, up behind him come again | |
| The inhuman rout, and from the shady depth | |
| Expel him, circling through his every shift. | 15 |
| He sweeps the forest oft; and sobbing sees | |
| The glades, mild opening to the golden day, | |
| Where, in kind contest, with his butting friends | |
| He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy. | |
| Oft in the full-descending flood he tries | 20 |
| To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides; | |
| —Oft seeks the herd; the watchful herd, alarmed, | |
| With selfish care avoid a brother’s woe. | |
| What shall he do? His once so vivid nerves, | |
| So full of buoyant spirit, now no more | 25 |
| Inspire the course; but fainting breathless toil, | |
| Sick, seizes on his heart: he stands at bay; | |
| And puts his last weak refuge in despair. | |
| The big round tears run down his dappled face; | |
| He groans in anguish; while the growling pack, | 30 |
| Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest, | |
| And mark his beauteous checkered sides with gore. | |
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