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hen through the dell his horn resounds,From vain pursuit to call the hounds.Back limped, with slow and crippled pace,The sulky leaders of the chase;Close to their master's side they pressed,With drooping tail and humbled crest;But still the dingle's hollow throatProlonged the swelling bugle-note.The owlets started from their dream,The eagles answered with their scream,Round and around the sounds were cast,Till echo seemed an answering blast;And on the Hunter tried his way,To join some comrades of the day,Yet often paused, so strange the road,So wondrous were the scenes it showed.
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