IX.
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lose on the hounds the Hunter came,To cheer them on the vanished game;But, stumbling in the rugged dell,The gallant horse exhausted fell.The impatient rider strove in vainTo rouse him with the spur and rein,For the good steed, his labors o'er,Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more;Then, touched with pity and remorse,He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse.'I little thought, when first thy reinI slacked upon the banks of Seine,That Highland eagle e'er should feedOn thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed!Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day,That costs thy life, my gallant gray!'
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