Page:Southern Life in Southern Literature.djvu/221

But not alone As Shakespeare s melancholy courtier loved Ardennes, Love I the autumn forest; and I own I would not oft have mused as he, but flown To hunt with Amiens And little recked, as up the bold deer bounded, Of the sad creature wounded. That gentle knight, Sir William Wortley, weary of his part, In painted pomps, which he could read aright, Built Warncliffe lodge for that he did delight To hear the belling hart. It was a gentle taste, but its sweet sadness Yields to the hunter s madness. What passionate And wild delight is in the proud swift chase! Go out what time the lark, at heaven s red gate, Soars joyously singing quite infuriate With the high pride of his place; What time the unrisen sun arrays the morning In its first bright adorning. Hark the shrill horn As sweet to hear as any clarion Piercing with silver call the ear of morn; And mark the steeds, stout Curtal, and Topthorn, And Greysteil, and the Don Each one of them his fiery mood displaying With pawing and with neighing.