Canto III.]
Orion.
31
Watch with sad eye the jocund chase afar
In the green landscape, where the quivering line
Led by the stag—who drew its rout behind
Of woodland shapes, confused as were their cries,
And sparkling bodies of fleet-chasing hounds,—
Passed like a magic picture, and was gone.
His husbandry soon ceased; he hated toil
Unvaried, ending always in itself,
And to the Goddess pleaded thoughtful hours
For his excuse, and indolent self-disgust.
Small profit found his thought; his sympathies
Were driven inward, and corroded there.
In the green landscape, where the quivering line
Led by the stag—who drew its rout behind
Of woodland shapes, confused as were their cries,
And sparkling bodies of fleet-chasing hounds,—
Passed like a magic picture, and was gone.
His husbandry soon ceased; he hated toil
Unvaried, ending always in itself,
And to the Goddess pleaded thoughtful hours
For his excuse, and indolent self-disgust.
Small profit found his thought; his sympathies
Were driven inward, and corroded there.
Sometimes he wandered to the lowland fens,
Where the wild mares toss their sharp manes in the blast,
And scour through washy reeds and hollows damp—
Hardened in after ages by long droughts;
Arid and stony in the present time—
And midst the elements he sought relief
From inward tempests. Once for many hours,
In silence, only broken from afar
By the deep lowing of some straying herd,
Moveless and without speech he watched a hind
Where the wild mares toss their sharp manes in the blast,
And scour through washy reeds and hollows damp—
Hardened in after ages by long droughts;
Arid and stony in the present time—
And midst the elements he sought relief
From inward tempests. Once for many hours,
In silence, only broken from afar
By the deep lowing of some straying herd,
Moveless and without speech he watched a hind
