It is a fair

And goodly sight to see the antlered stag
With the long sweep of his swift walk repair
To join his brothers; or the plethoric bear
Lying in some high crag,

With pinky eyes half closed, but broad head shaking,

As gadflies keep him waking.

And these you see,

And, seeing them, you travel to their death
With a slow, stealthy step, from tree to tree,
Noting the wind, however faint it be.

The hunter draws a breath

In times like these, which, he will say, repays him For all care that waylays him.

A strong joy fills

(A joy beyond the tongue's expressive power) My heart in Autumn weather-fills and thrills! And I would rather stalk the breezy hills

Descending to my bower

Nightly, by the sweet spirit of Peace attended, Than pine where life is splendid.

PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE.

HUNTING SONG.

WAKEN, lords and ladies gay,

On the mountain dawns the day;

All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk and horse and hunting-spear!