A fallen foe. The dogs, and birds of prey,
Insatiate, on his reeking bowels feast;

But the stern Falconer claims the lion's share.
Such are the sports of kings; and better far
Than royal robbery, and the bloody jaws
Of all-devouring war! Each animal,

By natural instinct taught, spares his own kind;
But man, the tyrant man! revels at large,
Free-booter unrestrain'd; destroys at will
The whole creation, men and beasts his prey;
These for his pleasure, for his glory those.
Next will I sing the valiant falcon's fame,
Aërial fights, where no confederate brute
Joins in the bloody fray, but bird with bird
Justs in mid air. Lo! at his siege,' the hern,
Upon the bank of some small purling brook,
Observant stands to take his scaly prize,
Himself another's game; for mark, behind
The wily falconer creeps; his grazing horse
Conceals the treacherous foe, and on his fist
The unhooded falcon sits: with eager eyes
She meditates her prey, and in her wild
Conceit already plumes the dying bird.
Up springs the hern, redoubling every stroke,
Conscious of danger, stretches far away,
With busy pennons and projected beak,
Piercing the opponent clouds : the falcon swift
Follows at speed, mounts as he mounts, for hope
Gives vigour to her wings: another soon
Strains after to support the bold attack;
Perhaps a third. As in some winding creek
On proud Iberia's shore, the corsairs sly
Lurk waiting to surprise a British sail,

'The place where the hern takes his stand, watching his prey.

Full-freighted from Etruria's friendly ports,
Or rich Byzantium; after her they scud,
Dashing the spumy waves with equal oars,
And spreading all their shrouds; she makes the main,
Inviting every gale, nor yet forgets

To clear her deck, and tell the insulting foe,
In peals of thunder, Britons cannot fear.
So flies the hern pursued, but fighting flies.
Warm grows the conflict; every nerve's employ'd:
Now through the yielding element they soar,
Aspiring high, then sink at once, and rove
In trackless mazes through the troubled sky.
No rest; no peace. The falcon hovering flies
Balanced in air, and confidently bold
Hangs o'er him like a cloud, then aims her blow
Full at his destined head. The watchful hern
Shoots from her like a blazing meteor swift
That gilds the night, eludes her talons keen
And pointed beak, and gains a length of way.
Observe the attentive crowd; all hearts are fix'd
On this important war, and pleasing hope
Glows in each breast. The vulgar and the great,
Equally happy now, with freedom share
The common joy: the shepherd-boy forgets
His bleating care; the labouring hind lets fall
His grain unsown; in transport lost, he robs
The expecting furrow, and in wild amaze
The gazing village point their eyes to heaven.
Where is the tongue can speak the falconer's cares,
"Twixt hopes and fears, as in a tempest toss'd?
His fluttering heart, his varying cheeks confess
His inward woe. Now, like a wearied stag,
That stands at bay, the hern provokes their rage;
Close by his languid wing, in downy plumes,
Covers his fatal beak, and cautious hides

The well-dissembled fraud. The falcon darts
Like lightning from above, and in her breast
Receives the latent death; down plumb she falls
Bounding from earth, and with her trickling gore
Defiles her gaudy plumage. See, alas!
The falconer in despair; his favourite bird
Dead at his feet, as of his dearest friend
He weeps her fate; he meditates revenge,
He storms, he foams, he gives a loose to rage;
Nor wants he long the means: the hern fatigued,
Borne down by numbers, yields; and prone on earth
He drops: his cruel foes, wheeling around,
Insult at will. The vengeful falconer flies
Swift as an arrow shooting to their aid;
Then muttering inward curses, breaks his wings,
And fixes in the ground his hated beak ;1
Sees, with malignant joy, the victors proud
Smear'd with his blood, and on his marrow feast.2
Unhappy bird, our fathers' prime delight!
Who fenced thine eyry round with sacred laws ;3
Nor mighty princes now disdain to wear
Thy waving crest, the mark of high command,
With gold, and pearl, and brilliant gems adorn'd.4
Now if the crystal stream delight thee more,
Sportsman! lead on, where through the reedy bank
The insinuating waters, filter'd, stray
In many a winding maze. The wild-duck there
Gluts on the fattening ooze, or steals the spawn

This is done to prevent his hurting the hawk; they generally also break their legs.

The reward of the hawk, made of the brains, marrow, and blood, which they call in Italian Soppa.

3 No man was permitted to shoot within 600 yards of the eyry, or nest of a hern, under great penalties.

4 The hern's top, worn at coronations here, and by the great men in Asia in their turbans.

Of teeming shoals, her more delicious feast.
How do the sunbeams on the glassy plain
Sport wanton, and amuse our wandering eyes
With variously-reflected changing rays!

The murmuring stream salutes the flowery mead
That glows with fragrance; Nature all around
Consents to bless. What sluggard now would sink
In beds of down? What miser would not leave

His bags untold for this transporting scene?—
Falconer, take care, oppose thy well-train'd steed,
And slyly stalk; unhood thy falcon bold,
Observe at feed the unsuspecting team
Paddling with oary feet: he's seen; they fly.
Now at full speed the falconer spurs away
To assist his favourite hawk; she from the rest
Has singled out the mallard young and gay,
Whose green and azure brightens in the sun.
Swift as the wind that sweeps the desert plain,
With feet, wings, beak, he cuts the liquid sky :
Behoves him now both oar and sail; for see,
The unequal foe gains on him as he flies.
Long holds the aërial course; they rise, they fall,
Now skim in circling rings, then stretch away
With all their force, till at one fatal stroke
The vigorous hawk, exerting every nerve,
Truss'd in mid air bears down her captive prey.
"Tis well on earth they fall; for oft the duck
Mistrusts her coward wings, and seeks again
The kind protecting flood: if haply then
The falcon rash aim a decisive blow,
And spring to gripe her floating prey, at once
She dives beneath, and near some osier's root
Pops up her head secure; then views her foe,
Just in the grasping of her fond desires,

And in full pride of triumph, whelm❜d beneath

The gliding stream. Ah! where are now, proud bird!
Thy stately trappings, and thy silver bells,
Thy glossy plumage, and thy silken crest?
Say, tyrant of the skies! wouldst thou not now
Exchange with thy but late desponding foe
Thy dreadful talons, and thy polish'd beak,
For her web-feet despised? How happy they
Who,when gay Pleasure courts, and Fortune smiles,
Fear the reverse; with caution tread those paths
Where roses grow, but wily vipers creep!

These are expensive joys, fit for the great,
Of large domains possess'd: enough for me
To boast the gentle spar-hawk on my fist,
Or fly the partridge from the bristly field,
Retrieve the covey with my busy train,
Or with my soaring hobby dare the lark.

But if the shady woods my cares employ
In quest of feather'd game, my spaniels beat
Puzzling the entangled copse, and from the brake
Push forth the whirring pheasant; high in air
He waves his varied plumes, stretching away
With hasty wing. Soon from the uplifted tube
The mimic thunder bursts; the leaden death
O'ertakes him, and with many a giddy whirl
To earth he falls, and at my feet expires.

When Autumn smiles, all beauteous in decay, And paints each chequer'd grove with various hues, My setter ranges in the new-shorn fields, His nose in air erect; from ridge to ridge Panting he bounds, his quarter'd ground divides In equal intervals, nor careless leaves One inch untried. At length the tainted gales His nostrils wide inhale: quick joy elates His beating heart, which, awed by discipline Severe, he dares not own, but cautious creeps