eir vain pursuit, nor far he flies
But checks his ardour, till the steaming scent
That freshens on the blade, provokes their rage.
Urged to their speed, his weak deluded foes

Soon flag fatigued; strained to excess each nerve,
_10
Each slackened sinew fails; they pant, they foam;
Then o'er the lawn he bounds, o'er the high hills
Stretches secure, and leaves the scattered crowd
To puzzle in the distant vale below.
'Tis instinct that directs the jealous hare
To choose her soft abode: with step reversed
She forms the doubling maze; then, ere the morn
Peeps through the clouds, leaps to her close recess.
As wand'ring shepherds on the Arabian plains

No settled residence observe, but shift
_20
Their moving camp, now, on some cooler hill
With cedars crowned, court the refreshing breeze;
And then, below, where trickling streams distil
From some penurious source, their thirst allay,
And feed their fainting flocks: so the wise hares
Oft quit their seats, lest some more curious eye
Should mark their haunts, and by dark treacherous wiles
Plot their destruction; or perchance in hopes

Of plenteous forage, near the ranker mead,
Or matted blade, wary, and close they sit.
_30
When spring shines forth, season of love and joy,
In the moist marsh, 'mong beds of rushes hid,
They cool their boiling blood: when Summer suns
Bake the cleft earth, to thick wide-waving fields
Of corn full-grown, they lead their helpless young:
But when autumnal torrents, and fierce rains
Deluge the vale, in the dry crumbling bank
Their forms they delve, and cautiously avoid

The dripping covert: yet when Winter's cold
Their limbs benumbs, thither with speed returned
_40
In the long grass they skulk, or shrinking creep
Among the withered leaves, thus changing still,
As fancy prompts them, or as food invites.
But every season carefully observed,
The inconstant winds, the fickle element,
The wise experienced huntsman soon may find
His subtle, various game, nor waste in vain
His tedious hours, till his impatient hounds
With disappointment vexed, each springing lark
Babbling pursue, far scattered o'er the fields.
_50
Now golden Autumn from her open lap
Her fragrant bounties showers; the fields are shorn;
Inwardly smiling, the proud farmer views
The rising pyramids that grace his yard,
And counts his large increase; his barns are stored,