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FOWLING, 
 
 A 
 
 POEM, 
 
 IN FIVE BOOKS ; 
 DESCRIPTIVE OF 
 
 GROUSE, PARTRIDGE, PHEASANT, 
 
 WOODCOCK, DUCK, 
 
 AND SNIPE SHOOTING. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE REV. JOHN VINCENT, B. A. 
 
 CURATE OF CONST ANTINE, CORNWALL. 
 
 ** Magnos canibus circumdare saltus." 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 Printed by George Ramsay and Company, 
 
 FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AN!) COMPANY ; AND LONGMAN, 
 HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, LONDON. 
 
 1812. 
 

j 
 
 ± 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 A Country life, a passion for rural sports, 
 and the beauties of Nature, gave birth to 
 the following Poem, the intended vehicle of 
 perpetuating the memory of scenes and plea- 
 sures congenial with the Author's disposi- 
 tion and habits. Mr Somerville's excel- 
 lent poem, The Chace, afforded, at once, 
 an incitement and an example. But, in the 
 execution of his plan, the Author has ven- 
 tured to differ, essentially, from that gen- 
 tleman. He has not enlarged his work by 
 the introduction of any foreign modes of 
 shooting, and he has avoided all extraneous 
 ornaments, and classical allusions. It was 
 a home scene he wished to delineate, and 
 Nature and Sport were to be the only figures 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 in the picture. To those who have felt a 
 congenial ardour in the pursuit of their fa- 
 vourite sport, through every season, this will 
 hardly appear to be a disadvantage. They 
 will meet with scenes which, without being 
 precisely the same, will, by a striking re- 
 semblance, produce the pleasing recollec- 
 tion of many familiar to them : And they 
 may be led to enhance the pleasures of 
 shooting, by seizing the occasions so fre- 
 quently presented, but generally overlook- 
 ed, of indulging the purest and most delight- 
 ful sensations arising from the contempla- 
 tion of the beauties of Nature. All field- 
 sports have been often depreciated and cen- 
 sured, by a train of arguments always un- 
 just, generally contemptible. — The Author 
 will not here go over beaten ground in a 
 formal justification of them; he will not 
 waste his time in combating prejudice and 
 
PREFACE. 5 
 
 bigotry ; on this head he is satisfied with the 
 reflection he has made in the Poem itself, at 
 the beginning of the first book. In truth, it 
 is not for the nature and design of his work 
 that the Author feels any apprehension; it is 
 the execution alone of the work which creates 
 a considerable degree of anxiety in his breast. 
 The opinion of an author himself can never 
 be relied on with safety— the opinion of his 
 friends is little less hazardous. The opinion 
 of the public is the justest, as well as the 
 surest test of his merit or demerit. The Au- 
 thor of the following Poem will not follow 
 the hackneyed mode of imploring favour, 
 or deprecating disapprobation. He will 
 not disgust the liberal mind by meanness and 
 servility. The illiberal lie is proud enough 
 to deem beneath his notice ; and were he to 
 address it at all, it should not be in his own 
 words, but in those of the author to whom 
 
6 PREFACE. 
 
 he is already indebted for a motto ; who, in 
 the 17th letter of the 6th book, has forcibly 
 comprised, in a few words, all that could 
 possibly be said upon such an occasion. 
 
 ERRATUM. 
 
 Page 101, lines 431 — 3, to be read thus 
 
 Far other feelings fill my placid breast, 
 As at this gap I pass'd at early morn 
 My footsteps linger j &c. 
 
BOOK I. 
 
 GROUSE SHOOTING. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Subject proposed, and invocation of Nature. Address 
 to sportsmen in general, and fowlers in particular. 
 Justification of fowling, and reproof of prejudice and 
 false sensibility, with a short admonition to sportsmen 
 not to suffer the prey to linger in dying. Grouse shoot- 
 ing throughout the day described. Morning shooting. 
 Finding the pack, and killing. Reproof of boastful 
 and exaggerating sportsmen. Breaking off at noon, 
 retiring to shelter, and fowler's repast. Vulgar super- 
 stition, and belief of the existence of the heath hounds. 
 Simple and pedestrian fowling commended. The grouse 
 described, with directions for shooting. Afternoon 
 shooting — finding and killing. Breaking off at sunset, 
 and return home. Summer evening, with rural sights 
 and sounds. Concludes with the close of day. 
 
FOWLING. 
 
 Ipsis est aer avibus non aequus, et illae 
 Praecipites alta vitam sub nube relinquunt. 
 
 Virg. Georg. lib. 3. 
 
 Minim est animus agitatione motuque corporis excitatur. 
 Jam undique sylvae et solitudo, ipsum illud silentium quod 
 
 venatione datur, magna cogilationis incitamenta sunt 
 
 Experieris non Diaoam 
 magis montibus quam Minervam inerrare. 
 
 Plin. Eput, 6. lib. 1. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 GROUSE SHOOTING. 
 
 The pleasing labours of the sylvan war 
 Wag'd by the fowler on the feather'd race 
 Through the revolving seasons, summer's heat 
 And winter's cold, I sing. Assist my song 
 Nature, great goddess, and if still thy pow'r 5 
 
4 FOWLING. 
 
 From the first dawn of reason my rapt soul 
 
 Has duly own'd, if ever to thy name, 
 
 Midst woods and wilds and streams, has offer'd up 
 
 With sacred rapture vows and incense meet 
 
 On altars never rear'd by human hands, 10 
 
 Breathe thy blest influence on my rising strain ! 
 
 Lovers of Nature, and the cheerful sports 
 
 Her wide domain affords ! whether the chace 
 
 Fill your whole souls, or the swift silent folk 
 
 That dwell beneath the wildly wand'ring streams 
 
 Oft mixing with the main, call forth your skill, 16 
 
 Attend my lay ; let no ungen'rous pride, 
 
 No narrow prejudice forbid your hearts 
 
 To sympathize with mine, for I your sports 
 
 Admire and love. Oft at the dawn of day, 20 
 
 Rous'd by the cheerful horn, my bounding steed 
 
FOWLING. 5 
 
 Receives me eager through the doubling chace 
 O'er hills and vales and far extended plains, 
 Or dark entangled depth of woods remote, 
 With joyous heart to press the flying prey. 25 
 Nor less when genial spring revives the world 
 And rising in a robe of fleecy clouds 
 Spun by the dewy fingers of the south, 
 The sun begins his course, with silent step 
 Along the river's misty banks I stray 30 
 
 By many a pebbly ford, or rushing fall, 
 Or still deep pool by crowding alders screen'd, 
 And from his crystal bed the spotted trout 
 Solicit, or the salmon silver bright. 
 
 But chief ye brother sportsmen to my song 35 
 Give ear ; ye, who the far resounding gun 
 
6 FOWLING. 
 
 And faithful dog attending, love, — who chase 
 Nor o'er the earth, nor through the wat'ry plains 
 Your game, but through the spacious realms of air 
 Pursue it, and when vainly deem'd secure 40 
 On wind-swift pinions borne, with steady aim 
 Unerring hurl it to the ground, attend ! 
 Whilst, by experience led, the Muse unfolds 
 Your ever-varying sport ; nor that alone, 
 But many a rural charm shall she pourtray : 45 
 Now pausing on some mountain's brow sublime, 
 Now in some silent glen, or at the source 
 Of some clear nameless stream, the while she 
 
 marks 
 Around her rise ten thousand sights and sounds 
 Unseen, unheard, by all but her alone ; 50 
 
 For she has witness'd oft the earliest dawn 
 
 l 
 
FOWLING. 7 
 
 And latest close of day, with ev'ry change, 
 Through ev'ry season beautiful and new, 
 Of vale or upland, field or forest wide. 
 
 Gen'rous and bold as varied is your sport, 55 
 Ye fowlers ! manly strength your, toils require ; 
 Defiance of the summer's burning sun 
 And winter's keenest blast, of hail or storm, 
 Of ice, or driving snow ; nor must the marsh 
 That quivers wide deter you, nor the brake 60 
 That seems impervious, in whose thorny depth 
 You struggle long, and lose the cheerful day, 
 'Till bursting through, again the sylvan scene 
 Tranquil and smooth re-opens to your view. 
 Well are those toils repaid, when by your side, 
 Or underneath your crouching spaniel's feet 66 
 
8 FOWLING. 
 
 That strongly manifests his eager joy 
 With gestures eloquent, you view your prey 
 With rapt'rous eye,— or when at clay's decline 
 Your bag well fill'd, with step sedate and slow 70 
 Along the beaten village path you pass, 
 As the light lingers in the western sky, 
 And see far off your dusky home arise. 
 
 Be silent Prejudice, nor call our sport 
 By any term severe ; — Bigot forbear 75 
 
 Nor dare arraign us at your angry bar ! 
 Has the Creator made, himself, the grant 
 Of ev'ry living thing, fish, fowl, or beast, 
 To lordly man, and shall your vain decree 
 Annul the grant ? And ye, who proudly boast SO 
 Of feelings delicate, and most refin'd, 
 
FOWLING. J 
 
 Ye male or female sensibilitjsts, 
 Who shrink and shudder at the fowler's sport, 
 Yet from your doors unpitied, unreliev'd 
 Turn the poor vet'ran, whose best blood has 
 
 stream'd, 85 
 
 For your security so ill deserv'd, 
 Blush and be silent : — blush again with shame 
 When you reflect upon the cruel cates 
 Your tables often yield, with which the Muse 
 Will not pollute her strain. One only hint 90 
 She gives ; sportsmen, be merciful in death, 
 Nor ever let your prey breathe out its life 
 In ling'ring agonies. Of this no more ! 
 My eager Muse invites you to the field : 
 What though beneath the lion's sultry sign 95 
 The fervid sun scorch the parch'd earth, abroad 
 
10 FOWLING. 
 
 Freely along the wide extended moors, 
 
 And on the heath-clad mountain unconfin'd 
 
 Refreshing breezes blow : thither the grouse 
 
 My untir'd footsteps leads, and ere the dews 100 
 
 Collected by the fost'ring night have fled, 
 
 I may remit my toil. O let the morn 
 
 Ye sportsmen, let the fresh and wholesome morn, 
 
 Whether in Summer's frolic robe array 'd 
 
 Or Winter's soberer garb, still call you forth! 105 
 
 And if the forespent night have witness'd nought 
 
 But healthful fare, and modest temp'rate cups, 
 
 Lib'ral, yet chasten'd, full without excess, 
 
 No bell, nor loud alarum shall you need 
 
 To rouse you from your sleep, refresh'd and clear 
 
 And ready for the field. Observe the heavens ; 1 1 1 
 
 Nor yet disdain the aid of the small tube, 
 
FOWLING. 11 
 
 Whose metal sensitive enclos'd foretells 
 The weather's changes. Should the low'ring skies 
 And hollow winds proclaim approaching rain, 115 
 Midway the mountains hunt : if wilder still 
 Tempestuous gales and driving mists prevail, 
 Still lower ; — but when all serene and fair, 
 The face of Nature nought but smiles displays, 
 Then to the mountains' summits bend your way. 
 
 As up the rugged path I press, how wide 121 
 The prospect opens, but not here bedeck'd 
 From Summer's varied and fantastic loom 
 But clad in mantle coarse of sober brown 
 And dusky purple mix'd : one homely hue 125 
 Stretches unvaried round, save where some rock 
 Lifts it's grey forehead, furrow'd by the hand 
 
12 FOWLING. 
 
 Of ruthless Time ; or if the curious eye 
 A wider circuit take, perchance it marks 
 Upon the moorland's edge, (deserving note 130 
 But as contrasted with the neighb'ring waste) 
 The green potatoe-ground, with simple fence 
 Enclos'd, and, at one end, the clay-built cot 
 Scarce from the heath distinguished ; not a bush 
 Shelters the bleak abode. No tow'ring trees 135 
 In these rude solitudes diffuse a shade : 
 Their loss not felt, whilst my observant eye 
 Follows my ranging setters. How they wind 
 Along the bending heath ! and now they climb 
 The rocky ridge, where mid the broken crags 140 
 The whortle's purple berries peep. " Take heed " 
 The pack is near at hand ; the wary dogs 
 Draw slowly on. They stand immoveable, 
 
FOWLING. 13 
 
 Backing the leader. Now my pulse beats quick 
 With expectation, but by practice train'd 1 45 
 At once subsides, that coolness may assist 
 My steady aim. Meantime my well-taught dogs 
 Enjoy their sett : I hie them in : the birds 
 On sounding pinions rise, and with affright 
 Swift as the winds make off, yet not so swift 150 
 But that the whistling shot o'ertakes their flight. 
 One flutt'ring beats the ground with broken wing 
 And breast distain'd with blood ; the rest far off, 
 Urg'd on by fear, skim o'er the distant moors, 
 'Till, by the haze obscur'd, my eye no more 155 
 Discerns their flight. Vain is their hope of peace, 
 Their hope of safety vain, tho' by no eye 
 Observ'd, save the high tow'ring hawks, or larks, 
 Their fellows of the air ; they drop at once, 
 
14 FOWLING. 
 
 Then cow'ring run to where the bushy ling 160 
 Offers a shelter, or the deep black rut 
 A safer seeming hold ; — each for himself 
 Seeks a retreat, where still and close he lies, 
 The thund'ring gun yet sounding in his ears. 
 Short is your respite ! with sagacious nose 165 
 My dogs far off shall wind you, 'till at length, 
 Upon your foot advancing, they denote 
 With steady sett your hiding-place. Again, 
 Upstarting from the ground, where close they lie 
 'Till the reloaded gun shall give them leave, 170 
 They bound along, and spreading o'er the heath, 
 With circling footsteps ply their busy work. 
 
 Light is my heart with joyful hope elate 
 As I pursue their course ; no careful thoughts 
 
FOWLING. 15 
 
 Have room to enter ; the cerulean sky, 175 
 
 Th' unclouded sun diffuse a livelier joy ; 
 The very passing breeze, with breath as soft 
 As youthful virgins breathing purest love, 
 Whispers delight : nature and health and sport, 
 Life's chiefest goods, are mine — What need I 
 
 more ? 180 
 
 There, where yon rising hillocks mark the spot, 
 I saw the pack with wings that seem'd declin'd 
 And intermitted speed ; not far from thence 
 Perchance they lie ; ah no ! the rising ground 
 Must have deceiv'd my eye. Push on my dogs ; 1 85 
 Their flight was further still. But Pero stands 
 With head erect, his fellows strait proclaim 
 The glad intelligence, distinctly borne 
 Upon the bosom of the adverse gale. 
 
16 FOWLING. 
 
 With steady pace how they draw on, and see 190 
 
 How short that dog has turn'd ; with body curv'd 
 
 Almost a semicircle there he stands. 
 
 Up springs the game, resounds the well-aim'd gun, 
 
 And the swift death seals up his swimming eyes. 
 
 Soon falls another, and another yet : 195 
 
 By better fortune favour'd one escapes ; 
 
 The disappointment dwells not on my mind 
 
 A moment's space. I boast no magic pow'r 
 
 Of universal slaughter, nor pretend 
 
 A never failing aim. My soul abhors 200 
 
 The noisy braggart, who with flippant tongue 
 
 Rehearses deeds improbable, confirm'd 
 
 With loud attesting oaths, that but beget 
 
 In the true sportsman's mind a stronger doubt 
 
 Of never missing hand — of many a bird 205 
 
FOWLING. 17 
 
 By various accidents and crosses lost, 
 Some in impervious brakes, others in floods ; 
 And some with single pellet touch'd, that soar'd 
 Aloft, and never more were seen — all dead. 
 Meantime th' unfurnish'd game-bag tells a tale 
 Of diff'rent import and well understood. 211 
 
 Truth needs no varnish, nor our manly sport 
 Affected, frothy praise, and falsehood base. 
 
 Now forward once again. Yon mountain's skirts 
 Shall be our limits ; cheerfully we drive 215 
 
 Along the heath ; but from the cloudless sky 
 The sun flames fiercely, and the subject earth 
 Sickens beneath his noontide beam ; the scent 
 Has greatly sunk ; Now break we off awhile, 
 'Till his declining rays point more oblique 220 
 
 B 
 
18 FOWLING. 
 
 And mitigated fervor rules the heav'ns. 
 
 Meantime to some well-shaded cool retreat, 
 
 If cool retreat may on these wastes be found, 
 
 Retire we to repose our wearied limbs, 
 
 And ease the panting dogs ; nor shall the time 225 
 
 Be wholly wasted, since the scrip affords 
 
 The just supplies that Nature's wants require. 
 
 I pity much the man whose palate nice, 
 
 And appetite deprav'd, can relish not 
 
 A meal so humble ; he has never known 230 
 
 A sportsman's ardour, nor his sickly taste, 
 
 By choicest viands courted, ever knew 
 
 The relish sport and exercise can give 
 
 To coarser fare. On yonder rising ground, 
 
 Where the huge mass of rocks, ledge upon ledge, 
 
 Nature's own hand has pil'd, appears a seat, 236 
 
 l 
 
FOWLING. 19 
 
 Which, as in scorn of mimic art, is form'd 
 Quadrangular. In Fancy's airy dream, 
 It might be deem'd some giant's drear abode. 
 Within, a turf of softer growth appears, 240 
 
 And fresher verdure ; the projecting rocks 
 Afford a welcome shade ; no human foot, 
 Save, haply, of some brother's of the gun, 
 Has enter'd here ; yet here the prowling fox, 
 When theft-concealing Night has veil'd the world, 
 With stealthy pace has pass'd : the wary hawk 246 
 Upon the topmost crag has chosen oft 
 His safe and silent seat. Far other forms, 
 As vulgar tongues by Superstition sway'd 
 Report, frequent these wilds ; for at the hour 250 
 Of midnight, loud and fearful sounds are heard ; 
 The heath hounds are abroad, th' infernal pack 
 
20 FOWLING. 
 
 Drive o'er the trembling earth ; appearance strange 
 And horrible they wear ; — their headless throats 
 Breathe forth sulphureous flames, nor ever cease 
 Their dire discordant yells. Woe to the wretch 256 
 Whose ears the sound invades : — he flies amain 
 With super-human strength and speed, yet oft 
 Stops, and his panting lungs perforce constrains 
 To stay their hurried beatings, whilst he lists 260 
 A dozen seconds, and again pursues 
 His rapid flight. Yet mid these winding cliffs 
 I view no tracks, nor shall I fear to draw, 
 Lest foul infection should have ting'd the wave, 
 From yonder lucid stream, whose waters pure 265 
 Shall temper well the else too potent draught. 
 The rocky table spread with careless haste : — 
 Come epicure and see what it displays. 
 
FOWLING. 21 
 
 Dost thou despise the sight ? — depart, and seek 
 Thy more luxurious but unenvied fare. 270 
 
 Yet are there sportsmen, who this simple plan 
 Could never brook ; who when they take their way 
 To fields or woods, their docile steed bestride, 
 And issue forth, proud of the num'rous train, 
 Horses and dogs and men : let each pursue 275 
 His fav'rite mode ; for me, while bounteous Heav'n 
 Accords me health, and my firm frame retains 
 Its wonted vigour, not the wealth of kings 
 Should change my course, since the laborious toil 
 Itself is pleasure, and rewards itself. 280 
 
 Now let us view the spoil, erewhile we trust 
 To be increas'd, the ruffled plumage dress, 
 Remove with careful hand the clotted gore, 
 
£2 FOWLING. 
 
 That so the maid, to whose lov'd name e'en now 
 We lift the cup and breathe the heartfelt wish, 
 As turning to the spot, in Fancy's eye 286 
 
 Alone perceiv'd, our stedfast gaze devours 
 The pathless waste, may dread not to receive 
 The ofFring destin'd to her snowy hand. 
 Amusing sight ! to see the prostrate dogs, 290 
 Rous'd from their unsound slumbers, sit erect 
 Upon their haunches, and with high rais'd ears 
 And head one side declin'd, attentive mark 
 My actions, as I turn the lifeless birds 
 This way and that. Their eyes so bright of late, 
 Surmounted by a brow of scarlet fringe, 296 
 
 How dull and heavy now ! yet still their plumes 
 Retain their colour, red and white immix'd, 
 With transverse bars, and spots of sable hue. 
 
FOWLING. 23 
 
 Most common these — yet grouse of other kind 
 The fowler often finds, of larger growth 301 
 
 And glossy jet, black-game or heath-cock term'd. 
 Nor are the red on ev'ry heathy moor 
 Or rocky mountain found ; full many a waste 
 Wash'd by the southern or the western main, 305 
 Has ne'er receiv'd them, though abundant else 
 In store of footed or of feather'd game 
 But in the north the lovely race is found 
 More frequent ; chief where Scotia spreads at large 
 Her heaths, her mountains, and her glitt'ring lochs, 
 With piny forest intersected oft, 311 
 
 Primaeval Nature, simple and august. 
 Beneath those deep and solitary shades, 
 With native freedom blest, the wild deer roves ; 
 The ptarmigan and cappercaily there, 315 
 
24 FOWLING. 
 
 Jealous and shy, one o'er the grey hill glides, 
 The other, thro' the pine woods' verdant gloom. 
 Upon some rocky mountain's ample side, 
 His tent the sportsman pitches ; day by day 
 His joyous task pursues, 'till other game 320 
 
 Calls him away to labours less severe, 
 Mid fertile fields and cultivated plains. 
 
 Should the young fowler haply wish to learn, 
 How best success may crown his ardent hopes, 
 When on the boundless waste or mountain wild 
 He seeks the grouse, the friendly Muse shall 
 
 guide 326 
 
 His dubious course, and teach him how to speed. 
 Laborious is the sport ; no other chace 
 Within the circling year demands such toil. 
 
FOWLING. 25 
 
 With fiercest wrath the fiery orb darts forth 330 
 Upon the languid frame, and ev'ry limb 
 Is bath'd with copious dews ; the rugged ground 
 With tangled heath o'erspread, retards the steps ; 
 Whilst rising from the dusky plain abrupt, 
 The rocky mountain lifts its frowning head ; 335 
 Full often to be scal'd, not without pain, 
 Nor without danger always ; rais'd aloft, 
 The fowler on the craggy summit stands, 
 And sees below the prospect stretch immense 
 In the broad sunny glare : at once the heav'ns 
 Are overcast, and rising thick around, 341 
 
 As by some great magician's potent wand 
 Compell'd, or daemon of the troubled air, 
 Close vapourish mists obscure the darken'd sky. 
 Tremendous roll the dusky volumes 'round, 345 
 
26 FOWLING. 
 
 And thicken as they roll ; the well-known path 
 
 Amidst the cliffs has vanish'd ; now no more 
 
 The cliffs themselves appear ; to move is death ! 
 
 Silent and sad the fowler sits him down, 
 
 Nor ought avails but patience, 'till a gale 350 
 
 Propitious, rising with its welcome wing, 
 
 Disperse the baleful fog. But not the less, 
 
 Ye sportive youths, with fearless heart pursue, 
 
 And manly, toil-strung limbs, the grateful chace. 
 
 But when you seek your game, those hills attempt, 
 
 Cloth'd with the thickest heath, whose shelt'ring 
 sides 356 
 
 From the sun's scorching rays, or parching winds 
 
 Protect th' assembl'd birds : when heat prevails 
 
 With unabated and imperious sway, 
 
 And the cleft earth gasps with devouring drought, 
 
FOWLING. 27 
 
 The hollows, where the cool and clustering moss 
 Proclaims the secret, subterraneous stream, 362 
 Perchance your footsteps shall invade, the spot 
 Where the shy pack their early meal have ta'en ; 
 In vain you beat around, your trusty dogs 365 
 Labour in vain, and disappointed leave 
 The tainted ground. You blame your tardy steps 
 Or luckless stars, — but would your eyes be blest 
 With the glad sight of the quick-springing birds, 
 To yonder riv'let take your instant way, 370 
 
 Whose lazy wave scarce wanders thro' the moor ; 
 The feather'd family there lave their bills, 
 With juicy berries stain'd and soil impure, 
 And slake their thirst at will. Spare not your toil ; 
 For oft the grouse shall quit their usual haunts, 375 
 By wond'rous instinct taught, great Nature's work, 
 
28 FOWLING. 
 
 Before approaching storms, though not a cloud 
 Has diram'd the heav'ns, and in their airy caves 
 Slumber the loud-tongued winds. Should the 
 
 moist ground, 
 Damp'd by preceding show'rs that fell unseen 380 
 In the deep silence of the drowsy night, 
 Forbid the birds to lie, long is their flight, 
 As down the wind with vig'rous wing they sweep ; 
 Behoves you then despise the painful march 
 With eager speed o'er the vast open heath, 385 
 Th' opposing hill, the rugged steep descent, 
 The gaping fissure, or the deep morass. 
 Unwearied patience, persevering toil 
 Alone can crown the fowler's eager hopes, 
 Whate'er the season, or whate'er the sport ; 390 
 But chiefly here : yet worthy is the game ; 
 
FOWLING. 29 
 
 For who that tastes th' intoxicating joy, 
 
 When falling fast around, on either hand 
 
 It beats the sounding earth, regrets his pains ? 
 
 Cease Muse your lecture ; for the sloping Sun 
 Has lost his pow'r, we linger here too long. 396 
 Come then my faithful dogs, yet once again 
 Buoy'd with delightful hopes let us proceed. 
 But whither shall we lead ? th' expansive .waste 
 Is free to traverse ; but where lies the game 400 
 What shall inform ? These are no Scotish hills 
 In grouse abounding — push we on the while, 
 And Fortune favour us. How fast the moors 
 Recede beneath my feet ! The rocky height . 
 Where late I sat, I view with doubtful eye, 405 
 Nor know it for the same ; whilst other hills 
 
30 FOWLING. 
 
 And other plains around me rise immense, 
 Unbated Hope still leads me on, though deep 
 In the clear western sky sinks the broad sun, 
 And envious Time seems hastier in his flight. 4-10 
 Must I then turn, nor see th' unerring dogs 
 Again declare the game ? Yet will I try 
 Yon much inviting hill, whose craggy points 
 Or food or shelter yield ; with busy nose, 
 On ev'ry rising ridge the dogs pursue 415 
 
 Their eager search ; their search alas is vain ! 
 But hold ! Did I not mark that farthest dog 
 Stop in his course mid-way ? He stops again : — 
 On either side they stop, as to the earth 
 Their feet were rooted : " Steady to your setts F 
 There springs the first, and parent of the pack. 421 
 Short is his flight ; he dies, nor in his death 
 
FOWLING. 31 
 
 Falls unaccompanied ; around him drops 
 His vig'rous progeny ; sport triumphs now, 
 And crowns the closing day with full success. 425 
 
 The work is done : and see, the setting sun 
 But lingers on the brow of yon dark hill 
 Empurpl'd with his beams, to bid farewell. 
 Farewell great orb of day ! content I view 
 Thy fiery disk forsake our hemisphere, 430 
 
 Conveying light and life to other climes. 
 How still is all around ! no human sounds, 
 Nor low of wand'ring herds, nor bleat of sheep 
 Break the deep silence of these wastes remote. 
 The spoil secur'd, with joyous heart I leave 435 
 The solitary scene, to join once more 
 In the far distant vales my fellow men ; 
 
32 FOWLING. 
 
 Though heavy laden, yet more light my step 
 Than if with empty bag I took my way. 
 And you my trusty dogs, well have you work'd, 
 Nor shall you fail of the well earn'd reward, 441 
 The plenteous mess, the wholesome bed of straw, 
 Where quick repose shall close your weary eyes. 
 There lies my way, betwixt those hills that rise 
 On either side, and form a hollow pass, 445 
 
 And pointing to the western sky, reflect 
 The sun's departed rays. Yet once again 
 I turn, and in the changing east, remark 
 The ev'ning shades their filmy vapours draw 
 Across the blue expanse ; whilst in the west, 
 Deep azure yet surmounts the saffron robe 451 
 That clothes the smiling heav'ns.- How sweet to 
 mark, 
 
FOWLING. 33 
 
 As down the heath I wind, the distant scene 
 Unfolding by degrees : at first appear 
 The blue topp'd hills with floating vapours 
 
 crown'd, 455 
 
 Drawn from the vale beneath ; the spiral wreath 
 Of smoke ascending through the tranquil air, 
 Its source unseen, 'till the close crowding trees 
 Denote the shelter'd farm that lies below. 
 How fast each well known object now recurs ! 460 
 The grassy slope, the winding shrubby lane, 
 The clatt'ring mill ; and now at large display'd, 
 The village rises to my gladden'd eye. 
 Here let me pause upon this ancient stile 
 O'ergrown with moss, and Nature's charms survey, 
 Clad in her ev'ning robe ; and let my ear 466 
 Catch the sweet rural sounds that float around. 
 
34 FOWLING. 
 
 From yon tall elm that decks the meadow's hedge, 
 Perch'd on its topmost bough the tuneful thrush 
 Pours forth his mellow lay ; across the lane 470 
 The milk-maid carols blithe her ballad strain ; 
 Whilst many a mingled sound of flocks and herds 
 And village swains remote invades the ear. 
 
 But hark ! what melody is this, that bursts 
 Upon my ravish'd sense ? the rustic youths, 475 
 Their daily labour done, in yon grey tow'r 
 Ring round the tuneful peal. I love the strain, 
 Whether its merry morning notes proclaim 
 The plighted vows of some unpolish'd pair, 
 Or chiming slow, as now, with frequent pause, 480 
 Chaunt a sweet requiem to the dying day. 
 The peal has ceas'd. The rustic youths repair 
 
FOWLING. 35 
 
 With hasty foot each to his simple home. 
 Come dumb companions ; let us homeward tend, 
 Through the fast gath'ring shades, that early rest 
 With renovated strength may fill our frames ; 486 
 And when to-morrow dawns we shall renew 
 With light and jocund hearts our cheerful sport. 
 
 END OP BOOK I. 
 
BOOK II. 
 PARTRIDGE-SHOOTING 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The approach of the season for partridge-shooting, with 
 the successive changes in the appearance of the coun- 
 try described. Reqnest to countrymen to be careful 
 not to injure the partridge's nest, and the young birds. 
 Arrival of the first of September. Going out in the 
 morning. Appearance of the country and snn-rise. 
 Finding the covey and killing. Judgment and expe- 
 rience supply the place of the marker. Carefully and 
 diligently beating the ground. Trying back. Finding 
 the birds in the hedge-rows. Pushing forward. Hos- 
 pitality of the farmer to the fair sportsman. Hunting 
 in standing corn reprobated. A slight and hasty re- 
 freshment in the fields recommended, in preference to 
 returning to dinner, and going out again in the after- 
 noon. Fowlers not to be selfish and ungenerous, or 
 repine at each other's success. British freedom secured 
 by salutary law. Long beat. Finding the covey at 
 water. Rising out of gun-shot. After refreshing, pa- 
 tience and perseverance in the pursuit. Finding the 
 covey in the stubbles on their afternoon feed. Killing 
 and marking into the brakes, with successful termina- 
 tion of the day's sport. St Hubert and St Giles. A 
 country where birds are moderately plenty, preferred to 
 shooting in preserves. Expectation and labour true sour- 
 ces of the sportsman's joys. Directions to young fowlers 
 for partridge-shooting. Return home by moon-light, 
 with reflections. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 PARTRIDGE-SHOOTING. 
 
 September comes to cheer the fowler's heart, 
 And raise his anxious hopes ; day after day 
 He marks the fruitful country change around 
 With eager eye. First from the fertile meads, 
 Divested of their widely waving load, 5 
 
 The fragrant hay-rick rises. Gentle swains, 
 If chance should lead you to the chosen spot, 
 Where the shy partridge forms her simple nest, 
 'The embryo offspring spare : and, when your 
 scythe ' 
 
40 FOWLING. 
 
 Levels the grassy vallies, should your foot 10 
 Approach the helpless brood, step back with care, 
 Nor our fond hopes destroy ; the trusty cur 
 That nightly guards your house, or in the fields 
 Protects your vestments and your frugal fare, 
 Whilst far from home you ply your mid-day 
 
 work, 15 
 
 Permit not to approach : — so may success 
 And plenty wait upon your rustic toils, 
 And crown the circling year with joyful gains. 
 As nearer now the sportive season comes, 
 The fowler marks the corn-fields change around, 
 From green to yellow ; 'till the potent sun 
 Embrowns the nodding ear. When evening comes, 
 He walks around,, and carefully surveys 
 
FOWLING. 41 
 
 The promis'd grounds, and ev'ry well-known 
 
 haunt 
 Of the coy game recalls ; whilst warm Desire, 25 
 By Fancy fir'd, Time's narrow limits bursts, 
 Or the dull interval, impatient, chides. 
 Should he some spot between thick shelt'ring 
 
 woods 
 Espy, where, in long range, the clust'ring shocks 
 O'erspread the ground, a livelier joy invades 30 
 His beating heart, and with no niggard praise 
 He loads the skilful farmer's early care. 
 But when the jolly harvest o'er the plains 
 Diffusive reigns at large, his joy is full, 
 And mingles with the mirth that cheers the scene. 
 Welcome to him the busy sickle's sound 36 
 
 Among the rustling fields, or sweeping scythe ; 
 
42 FOWLING. 
 
 Welcome the laugh, the shout, and noise confus'd. 
 That from the early dawn to day's decline, 
 Load ev'ry swelling gale. He joins the throng, 40 
 Partakes their pleasures, and foretels his own. 
 Then not alone he walks ; beside him wait 
 Attentive to his voice, of aspect grave 
 His trusty pointers, soon to be indulg'd 
 In the full freedom of their fav'rite sport. 45 
 
 At length arrives the glad important eve ; 
 To-morrow from the strict, but just restraint 
 Let loose, th' unshackl'd fowler shall rejoice. 
 What joyous hurry, and what pleasing cares 
 Through Britain's coasts prevail ; from east to 
 west, 50 
 
 From north to south, continuous they extend ; 
 WTiat region, or what district so unblest, 
 
FOWLING. 43 
 
 Where the prolific partridge is unknown, 
 Or eager fowlers doom them not to death ? 
 For me, before the welcome hour arrives, 55 
 What wild emotions agitate my breast ! 
 Sleep oft forsakes my couch, or should its dews 
 My heavy eye-lids bathe, in dreams I view 
 Th' expected covies, and the happy morn 
 Rises with all its joys before my eyes. 60 
 
 Come, long anticipated hour, oh come ! 
 Depart, ye envious shades of Night, and thou • 
 Fair Dawn arise, and o'er the humid world, 
 With rosy fingers lead the cheerful Day ! 
 
 The envious shades of Night are fled, and 
 now 65 
 
 I see the Dawn, with rosy fingers, lead 
 
44 FOWLING. 
 
 The cheerful Day along the eastern sky ; 
 And as his steps advance, the Heav'ns receive 
 The welcome stranger with a deeper blush. 
 Farewell, my couch ! your downy arms no more 
 Retain my limbs ; let Gluttony or Sloth, 71 
 
 Or helpless Age, or languid pale Disease, 
 Slumber the morn away, and lose the fresh 
 And wholesome hours : impatient for the field, 
 Without regret I leave your close embrace. 75 
 My hasty meal dispatch'd, I seize my gun 
 And issue forth ; from their clean kennels loos'd 
 My pointers meet me, and with joy unfeign'd, 
 Around me bound impatient, as I trace 
 The rocky lane to yonder rising ground. 80 
 
 Sweet is the hour of morn, and Nature's face 
 Beneath her influence, sweet in ev'ry scene ; 
 
FOWLING. 45 
 
 E'en on the barren waste, but how much more 
 Amid these fertile fields, and woody vales, 
 Where the rich scene with interchange of charms 
 Enchants the eye ; the verdure of the mead, 86 
 The upland brown, clear'd of it's golden load, 
 And shady nook that yet demands the aid 
 Of the warm sun to change the waving corn. 
 Not a wild flow'r that lifts it's modest head 90 
 Upon the mossy hedge, or vagrant spray 
 With pearly dew imboss'd, or humblest blade, 
 But to my eye the form of Beauty wears. 
 Here wantons wild the vegetable world 
 In native pride profuse, nor has the year 95 
 
 That pride with stern and chilling frown yet 
 check'd. 
 
46 FOWLING. 
 
 Ah ! what a glorious sight ! the rising sun, 
 That slowly lifts his head above yon wood, 
 Gilding each trembling leaf of varied green 
 Along the topmost ridge ; whilst far below 100 
 The grey of early morn with floating mists 
 Conjoin d, slow rising from the brawling stream, 
 Enwraps each dark and venerable trunk. 
 The mountain glistens in the orient ray ; 
 And in the vale, rous'd by the distant view 105 
 Of the glad promis'd beam, the flocks and herds 
 In grateful concert hail the rising day. 
 Nor are the hedges silent ; many a throat 
 Still chaunts the beauties of the waning year. 
 But the lov'd joys at hand, permit no more 110 
 My eye to wander o'er the sylvan scene. 
 
FOWLING. 47 
 
 Full of th* expected sport my heart beats high. 
 And with impatient step I haste to reach 
 The stubbles, where the scatter'd ears afford 
 A sweet repast to the yet heedless game. 115 
 How my brave dogs o'er the broad furrows bound, 
 Quart'ring their ground exactly. Ah ! that point 
 Answers my eager hopes, and fills my breast 
 With joy unspeakable, tlow close they lie ! 
 Whilst to the spot with steady pace I tend, 120 
 Now from the ground with noisy wing they bursty 
 And dart away. My victim singled out, 
 In his aerial course falls short, nor skims 
 Th' adjoining hedge o'er which the rest unhurt 
 Havepass'd. Now let us from that lofty hedge 125 
 Survey with heedful eye the country round ; 
 That we may bend our course once more to meet 
 

 48 FOWLING. 
 
 The scatter'd covey ; for no marker waits 
 Upon my steps, though hill and valley here, 
 With shrubby copse, and far extended brake 130 
 Of high grown furze, alternate rise around. 
 But judgment and experience shall supply 
 The marker's place ; the labour we despise ; 
 But let the sportive work be all our own. 
 Inviting is the view, — far to the right 135 
 
 In rows of dusky green, potatoes stretch, 
 With turnips mingled of a livelier hue. 
 Towards the vale, fenc'd by the prickly furze 
 That down the hill irregularly slopes, 
 Upwards they seem'd to fly ; nor is their flight 
 Long at this early season. Let us beat, 141 
 
 With diligence and speed restrain'd, the ground. 
 Making each circuit good ; nor rashly drive 
 
FOWLING. 49 
 
 From field to field, whilst far behind the game 
 Lies undisturb'd, and disappointment mocks 145 
 The fruitless toil. At ev'ry step I take 
 The wish'd for bird before me seems to rise ; 
 And should a dog turn quickly in his course, 
 As quickly turn my steps ; my ready hands 
 Half raise the gun with eagerness too rash, 150 
 Were it not check'd by reason's sober aid. 
 Still on we pass through thickly crowding stem* 
 Our pains yet unrepaid : the turnips next 
 Demand our steps : nor in the turnips lie 
 The cautious birds. What course shall we pur- 
 sue? 155 
 The new shorn fields here spread around, and next, 
 Luxuriant clover clothes the fertile land. 
 Shall we that clover try, or further on 
 
 D 
 
50 POLLING. 
 
 For other covies range excursive round ? 159 
 
 Not there I deem our search would meet success, ' 
 Too distant from their feeding ground the spot. 
 Nor would I imitate their heedless haste 
 Or quick impatience, who at the first check 
 Resign the toil, and forward press with hopes 
 Unauthoris'd and vain; 'till at the end 165 
 
 Of the long day, they mourn their fault too late ; 
 But let us rather on our steps return ; 
 The brakes are yet untried, the grass -fields too, 
 May in their hedge-rows hide the skulking game. 
 And thither will we first, to spare the dogs, 170 
 And spare ourselves perchance a needless toil. 
 We shun no labour that our sport requires, 
 But hold it folly to expend our pow'rs 
 Where none occasion calls. Could we but see 
 
FOWLING. 51 
 
 Once more the flutt'ring wing of speckled brown ! 
 That wish shall soon be realiz'd; For there, 176 
 Near yonder hedge-row where high grass and ferns 
 The secret hollow shade, my pointers stand. 
 How beautiful they look ! with outstretch'd tails, 
 With heads immoveable and eyes fast fix'd, 180 
 One fore-leg rais'd and bent, the other firm, 
 Advancing forward, "presses on the ground ! 
 Convolv'd and flutt'ring on the blood-stain'd earth, 
 The partridge lies : — thus one by one they fall, 
 Save what with happier fate escape untouch'd, 
 And o'er the open fields with rapid speed 186 
 To the close shelt'ring covert wing their way. 
 When to the hedge-rows thus the birds repair, 
 Most certain is our sport ; but oft in brakes 
 So deep they lie, that far above our head 190 
 
52 FOWLING. 
 
 The waving branches close, and vex'd we hear 
 The startled covey one by one make off. 
 Now may we visit some remoter ground ; 
 My eager wishes are insatiate yet, 
 And end but with the sun ; yet happy he, 195 
 Who ere the noontide beams inflame the skies, 
 Has bagg'd the spoil ; with lighter step he treads, 
 Nor faints so fast beneath the scorching ray. 
 The morning hours well spent, should mighty toil 
 Require some respite, he content can seek 200 
 Th' o'er-arching shade, or to the friendly farm 
 Betake him, where with hospitable hand 
 His simple host brings forth the grateful draught 
 Of honest home-brew'd beer, or cider cool. 204 
 Such friendly treatment may each fowler find 
 Who never violates the farmer's rights, 
 
FOWLING. 53 
 
 Nor with injurious violence, invades 
 
 His fields of standing corn, Let us forbear 
 
 Such cruel wrong, though on the very verge 
 
 Of the high waving field our dogs should point. 210 
 
 Thanks to these cooling clouds, that from the 
 south 
 Across the heav'ns their vapourish mantle draw, 
 By the fresh breeze accompanied ; to-day 
 We shall not need from our entrancing sport 
 A long cessation. Some high mossy bank, 215 
 Or thick grown hedge, or root of ancient oak 
 Well over-canopied, will serve us now 
 To snatch the hasty morsel, and allay 
 The wants of Nature, 'till the night shall yield 
 A more profuse repast. Let those who scorn 220 
 
54 FOWLING. 
 
 Our simple mode betake them to their homes,. 
 In the full meal indulge, and quaff the juice 
 Of the high flavour'd grape : then to the fields 
 Forth issuing again renew their sport. 
 But are their frames more brac'd than our's, their 
 hands 225 
 
 More steady to direct the fatal aim ? 
 Shall such sweet ease at night repay their toils, 
 Or shall to-morrow's dawn more cool and light 
 Invite them to the joyous sport again ? 
 Avaunt reflection ! Let our unbent mind 230 
 And careless heart luxuriate in delight, 
 As o'er these velvet downs we take our way, 
 And view well pleas'd the open champaign round ; 
 How grateful is the chaDge from the fierce glare 
 To the soft hue that overspreads the scene ! 235 
 
FOWLING. 55 
 
 That scene how rich and varied ! Nature spreads 
 Her various treasures round with lib'ral hand, 
 Bidding the fruitful vallies laugh and sing, 
 Whilst far beyond, the deep blue hills shut in 
 The smiling landscape with a native fence ; 240 
 The cheerful voice of industry pervades 
 And animates the whole. Oft, too, the sound 
 Of the loud gun re-echoing strikes my ear. 
 Without regret I hear it, nor repine 
 Should like success on others toils attend. 245 
 Be banish'd from the sportsman's breast, to dwell 
 With sordid Avarice, with Rapine vile, 
 Or Envy pale, or moody Discontent ; 
 The ungen'rous selfish spirit, that beholds 
 The joys of others with malignant eye. 250 
 
 In eastern climes, curs'd with despotic sway 
 
56 FOWLING. 
 
 Let tyranny through every rank of life, 
 With poison'd palate feast on human pain ; 
 But oh, let Freedom in this happy land, 
 Still in the common happiness rejoice ; 255 
 
 Whilst salutary laws and just restraints 
 Preserve her glorious blessings from abuse. 
 Grudge not ye sportsmen, then, a brother's joys, 
 Nor deem the various prey, the fields, the woods, 
 The heathy wilds or rushy lakes afford, 260 
 
 Too scanty for us all. — Away, my dogs ! 
 Let us yon brakes explore of humbler growth, 
 With grassy spots diversified, that join 
 The fields above, whose sandy soil invites 
 The wand'ring covey ; there perchance they bask 
 Oft in the sunny ray with social glee; 266 
 
 See here their feathers in the hollow pits 
 
FOWLING. 57 
 
 Their feet have left. Now through the brakes 
 
 we press, 
 Yet find them not. Deep in the vale below, 
 Lies a long rushy moor with wand'ring rills 270 
 Cross'd many a way : 'Tis now the hour of noon, 
 
 There haply may they lie. Hope once again 
 Revives, as down the hill I quickly wind. 
 But here a common fortune of the sport 
 Betides me ; ere my silent steps can gain 275 
 The wish'd for spot, a straggling bird discerns 
 My near approach, and with his sounding wing 
 Alarms his fellows ; fast they rise around, 
 And through yon op'ning glade whirl swift away. 
 Droop not, my faithful dogs ; though Fortune now 
 Frowns adverse, she may shortly smile again. 281 
 What though the long rank grass and matted weeds 
 
58 FOWLING. 
 
 Impede our steps, and, rising from the marsh, 
 Yon 'tangled thicket would arrest our course ! 
 Nought shall withstand us, whilst the faintest spark 
 Of hope illumes our way. In the clear stream 286 
 Quench ye your thirst ; whilst on this sedgy bank, 
 Nor discontented, nor dishearten'd yet, 
 I sit me down, and snatch my hasty meal. 
 Should we no more the sounding covey raise, 
 The day is not inglorious ; but we trust 291 
 
 Yet to be swell'd with joys. Once more we move, 
 And fast the landscape alters. From the vale 
 Emerging, now we breathe a purer air. 
 
 Where will the fond pursuit our footsteps lead ? 
 Far, far behind our well-known hills arise, 296 
 And ev'ry fav'rite haunt ; whilst scenes unknown 
 
FOWLING. 59 
 
 And unfrequented, rise as fast before. 
 Whilst many a spreading circuit thus we take, 
 Fast in his clouded car the sun declines, 300 
 
 And robs the jealous day of half his due. 
 But one resource remains — the covies now 
 Are on their feed again ; without delay 
 Strait to the stubbles let us bend our steps. 
 Those rising furrows first shall be essay'd, 305 
 Whose bed of ranker grass, with weeds immix'd, 
 Old inmates of the soil, shall from the game 
 Screen our advancing steps. O, if there dwell 
 In airy region or the concave earth, 
 Daemon or genius of the sylvan sport, , 310 
 
 May he be present and propitious now ! 
 How fear and hope alternately preside, 
 As with keen eye I watch th' industrious dogs. 
 
60 FOWLING. 
 
 Triumph again ! at once their course is stopp'd, 
 And from opposing quarters fix'd, they point 
 Tow'rds the same spot : Death hovers o'er his 
 prey ; 316 
 
 For scarce the gun has levell'd with the ground 
 The fated bird, ere in th' adjacent brake 
 I mark the rest drop in : fallacious hope 
 The trembling covey mocks, for not a spot 320 
 Within my ken a fairer prospect yields : 
 Low is the cover, intersected well 
 With narrow sheep paths, and I mark'd the birds 
 Wide scatt'ring as they fell. Just are my hopes, 
 And the full tide of pleasure swells my soul 325 
 To ecstacy, as each succeeding bird 
 That drops around with eager hand I seize. 
 Where is our labour now, where our fatigue ? 
 
FOWLING. 61 
 
 The weary limbs, to sudden strength restor'd, 
 Light and elastic move : nor aught imports 330 
 The long protracted way, — such mighty pow'r 
 Success possesses o'er the fowler's breast. 
 
 Well have we sped to-day, and well commenc'd 
 Our glad career ; bright dawn of future days, 
 That ere the fervid sun his furious course 335 
 Has known to check, ere yon green flaunting 
 
 leaves 
 Have put their sober autumn liv'ry on, 
 Shall fill th' appointed season duly up. 
 Nor shall we envy those whom Fate has plac'd 
 In richer districts, or more fertile plains ; 340 
 Those least, whose lordly lands are overstock'd, 
 And ev'ry field a num'rous covey yields, 
 
62 FOWLING. 
 
 As common as the tame domestic tribe 
 
 That waits around their house. What is it fills 
 
 With such transporting joys the sportsman's breast, 
 
 But expectation, that th' unknown event 346 
 
 Arrays in magic colours of its own ; 
 
 And vig'rou s manly toil, that stamps a worth 
 
 Upon the well-earn'd spoil, that else were vile ; 
 
 Accessible to all, as the sea-weed 359 
 
 Upon the sandy shore. Hubert be thou, 
 
 As erst, the jolly hunter's patron saint, 
 
 To-day, thou Giles art mine, abbot rever'd 
 
 And grave confessor — so the almanack 
 
 Presents thee to me on each glad return 355 
 
 Of this much wish'd for day ; yet not from me 
 
 Expect meet invocation ! peaceful rest ! 
 
 And whilst in chapel dim the pale monk chaunts 
 l 
 
FOWLING. 63 
 
 His vespers clear, and oft repeats thy name 
 With fervent tone, thy name I gladly mix 360 
 With echo's airy voice. Ye sportive youths, 
 Whom sage Experience has not yet inform'd, 
 List what the sylvan muse for you records. 
 Be early in the field : thus shall you find 
 The covey's feeding ground ; if ought detain 365 
 Later your anxious steps, the wide spread fields 
 Of rank potatoes, or of turnips try. 
 Or if the air be calm, and the warm sun 
 Have dried the earth, the neighb'ring ground ex- 
 plore 
 Devoid of herbage, where the lab'rer's hand 370 
 Has turn'd the crumbling soil ; or where the piles 
 Of rich manure amid the grass fields rise 
 Predestin'd to the plough. They bask them there, 
 
64 FOWLING. 
 
 Or straggling thence amid the longer grass, 
 Beneath the hedges pick their curious way. 375 
 But when loud blust'ring winds, or drizzly show'rs 
 Deform the day, deep in the hollow brakes 
 Secure they lie. Visit at noon of day 
 The nearest streams ; if unsuccessful still 
 The hours have pass'd, when the declining sun 
 From his meridian height towards the west 381 
 Mid-way has sunk, the stubble fields again 
 Receive the hungry birds. And oft you hear 
 Their frequent call from hill to hill resound. 
 Industrious and wise, improve the time ; 385 
 
 For as the season wanes, the birds grow wild, 
 Whilst on the juicy blades of the young wheat 
 In open fields they feed, and speed away 
 Long ere you reach the ground. Yet would I, then, 
 
FOWLING. 65 
 
 Though hopeless of their death, amongst them 
 send 390 
 
 The volley'd shot, that might perchance curtail 
 Their flight, and send them scatt'ring to the 
 
 brakes. 
 Yet let no arbitrary rules repress 
 Your youthful ardour, or your genius damp, 
 For diffrent countries diffrent modes require; 395 
 Borrow of others, 'till experience guide 
 Your certain course, and lead you to success. 
 
 The game-bag slung, shoulder'd the trusty gun, 
 Now homeward let us turn with steady march 
 And careless vacant mind dispos'd to peace ; 400 
 Or in the fading landscape prone to mark 
 Each pleasing object of the lengthen'd way. 
 
66 FOWLING. 
 
 How grateful and refreshing is the hour ! 
 The whisp'ring breeze, soft as the cygnet's down, 
 Wafts o'er my face its sweetly welcome breath,405 
 With fragrant odours from each dewy hedge 
 Or fresh'ning field, replete. Ye hapless tribes, 
 Who pent in crowded cities, never taste 
 Nature's best gifts, that charm the soften'd soul, 
 And bless the human frame with health and 
 strength; 410 
 
 As at this sweet and silent hour of eve 
 I take my lonely way, how more than vain, 
 How mean and poor seem all your boasted joys 
 Of gay society — where hollow smiles 
 Hide heartfelt misery, where friendship's name, 
 That should be sacred in the mouths of all, 416 
 Polluted by the flatt'ring tongue of guile, 
 
FOWLING. 67 
 
 Runs round the polish'd circle ; where the power 
 Of av'rice, in amusement's borrow'd dress, 
 Inflates the ranc'rous heart. Far, far from me 420 
 For ever be your tinsel and your glare, 
 Your loud pretended mirth and secret grief, 
 Whilst health and sport, and a few chosen friends, 
 In the deep rural scene are haply mine. 
 
 Faint and more faint in the light floating shades 
 The distant landscape grows, and in the gloom 426 
 Retiring, melts away ; 'till half perplex'd 
 And doubtful of my way, with earnest eye 
 I scrutinize my path. But soon a guide 
 Benignant, that no sordid fee demands, 430 
 
 Shall lead me to my home. O'er yon hill.top 
 Whose dusky line just mingles with the sky, 
 
6S FOWLING. 
 
 Shoots up a beaming light, like the faint gleam 
 Of dying embers. Yet to them unlike, 
 It grows and deepens — 'tis the welcome moon, 435 
 Whose cheering ray has often been my friend, 
 And oft may be again. With what a grace 
 She slowly rises through the fleecy clouds, 
 That bow before the lovely queen of night ! 
 Sweet is the robe, that o'er the cherish'd world 440 
 She mildly spreads ; her soft peculiar light 
 Restores the scene, but chang'd from what it was ; 
 Each harsher feature soften'd and subdu'd, 
 And ev'ry beauty mellow'd and improv'd. 
 The glitt'ring streams, the meads, the chequer'd 
 woods, 445 
 
 Contrasted light and shade put forth their charms. 
 Beneath the influence of her summer reign. 
 
FOWLING. 69 
 
 Nor are the herds unmark'd, at ease reclin'd 
 In the full pastures, or the wav'ring smoke 
 From the low cottage, that as soon as seen, 450 
 Melts from the sight. Meantime the careless mind 
 Wanders romantic through some fairy land, 
 'Till startled from its dream by the blithe notes 
 Of rustic swains returning from their toil, 
 And chaunting unrestrain'd their harvest-song. 455 
 Well could I linger in this rocky lane, 
 And listen to the lay. But though the mind 
 Be wakeful and untir'd, the wearied frame 
 Requires refreshment, and the healing pow'r 
 Of sweet and balmy sleep, that may again 460 
 Prepare us for the pleasures of the field. 
 
 END OF BOOK II. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 PHEASANT-SHOOTING. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pheasants not to be found in every part of the country. 
 Their tameness in parks and preserves disgusting to a 
 sportsman. Of the choice of dogs for pheasant-shoot- 
 ing. The pointer preferred, with silence in beating 
 the woods. Encomium on the season and October. 
 Thomson fond of Autumn. Tribute to the Robin. 
 Going out in the morning. Trying the turnips and 
 hedge-rows first. Beating in cover. Finding and 
 killing. Retiring to relieve and water the dog. Na- 
 tural reflections. Country life preferred to a town one. 
 Address to British parents, advising them to initiate 
 their offspring in field-sports, and advantages of so 
 doing. Self-congratulation, on enjoying the pleasures 
 of a country life. Various forest sights and sounds. 
 Renewing the sport, and following it with unequal 
 success. Poachers. Game-keepers. The fate of 
 Eugenio. Sun-set and clear evening denoting frost. 
 Effect of evening in a forest. Pheasants going to 
 roost Approaching darkness. Star-light. The dan- 
 ger of vulgar prejudices early imbibed. Quitting the 
 woods, and returning home. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 PHEASANT-SHOOTING. 
 
 From the wild mountain and the heathy waste, 
 Where, in defiance of the burning sun, 
 With persevering foot he sought the grouse ; 
 From new-shorn fields, where the rich harvest 
 
 grew, 
 And the shy partridge glean'd her sweet repast, 5 
 To tangled copses, and wide spreading woods, 
 The fowler comes. Another sport invites 
 His fond pursuit. The gaudy pheasant spreads 
 His many colour'd plumes, and as he bursts 
 
74 FOWLING. 
 
 From the deep shade, inspires the eager wish 10 
 To make the rich and lovely prize our own. 
 
 Thrice happy he, whom in the chosen clime, 
 And near the groves, the pheasant's lov'd abodes, 
 Fortune has plac'd; or with benignant pow'r, 
 Has largely giv'n to wander at his will. 15 
 
 For not in ev'ry forest shall be found 
 The stately game ; full many a fowler's eye, 
 With keenest ardour beaming, ne'er has seen 
 The gay capricious birds, that not the less, 
 In the wide lordly park or long preserves 20 
 Tame, but disgusting to the soul of sport, 
 Perch in the neighb'ring trees, or by the side 
 Of the smooth gravel walk securely lie. 
 Yet liberty and freedom unrestraind . 
 
 
YOWLING. 75 
 
 Best suit the pheasant, multiply his race, 25 
 
 And to it's highest value bring the breed. 
 But still be their's the care, and their's alone, 
 Whose highest pleasures from the table spring, 
 To rear, improve, and cultivate the game ; 
 But be it our's, and ev'ry son's of sport, 30 
 
 In the deep woods to seek our mighty joys, 
 And seek the praise our earnest toils deserve. 
 
 Oft undecided is the choice of dogs, 
 To push the pheasant from his close retreat. 
 The questing spaniel some prefer, and some 35 
 The steady pointer ; whilst the use of both 
 Is tried by others. In the earliest days 
 Of the glad season, to the woods they lead 
 Their noisy spaniels, whose wide ranging feet 
 
76 FOWLING. 
 
 And echoing voices rouse the startled birds, 40 
 E'en in their deepest holds. But when the game 
 More shy and cautious grows, they use alone 
 The well-bred pointer. — But none other dog 
 Shall e'er attend upon my steps, or late 
 Or early in the season ; when I beat 45 
 
 With vigilant and silent care the woods, 
 Though not so many a wing shall to the eye 
 Unfold its pinion, in the fatal range 
 Of the resounding gun shall more arise. 
 
 Hail lovely season of the changing year ! 50 
 What varied beauties clothe the mellow scene 
 Beneath October's reign ! The wand'ring eye, 
 Incessant roves around o'er fields and woods, 
 
 And orchards gay, with blushing fruit adom'd. 
 
 l 
 
 
FOWLING. 77 
 
 Ten thousand rich harmonious tints prevail 55 
 Through all the vegetable world, and shew 
 Nature's inimitable hand in all. 
 To borrow from her pencil, to enrich 
 His glowing canvas, with observant eye 
 Forth walks the painter, whilst the poet seeks 60 
 The rural scene, to teach his strain to breathe 
 By inspiration's force a sweeter note. 
 Thee, Bard of Nature, the revolving year 
 That hast so sweetly sung, thee, Autumn mild, 
 Mellifluous Thomson, fill'd with chief delight. 65 
 On some still day, when deep repose enchains 
 The loud discordant winds, how sweet a calm 
 Pervades the scene, as Nature's self repos'd 
 Through all her varied works, and whisper'd rest 
 To restless toilsome man! — The annual song ! 70 
 
78 FOWLING. 
 
 Of birds has nearly ceas'd, though one, whose 
 
 note 
 To me is full of music, chaunts aloud 
 His cheerful strain. Sweet robin ! oft to catch 
 Thy grateful song, my footsteps have I stay'd 
 Beside some ancient wood, or nearer home 75 
 Have heard thee pour thy pleasing melody 
 From ivy-mantl'd arch, or straggling branch 
 Of self-sown ash on the high ruin'd wall. 
 And when an elvish boy, on plunder bent, 
 In Spring I search'd the hedge with eager eye : 8( 
 If chance e'er led me to thy mossy nest, 
 My hands forbore to seize the tempting prize, 
 That spar'd that prize alone. Ne'er would I 
 For thee the treach'rous springle in the snoi 
 But gladly feed thee with the scatter d crum^B. 85 
 
 I> 
 
FOWLING. 79 
 
 Or when an awkward lad, I first essay 'd 
 To use my gun, and urg'd my petty sport 
 
 'Mid hawthorn bushes in the shelter'd lane, 
 Thy scarlet breast was as a seven-fold shield, 
 To guard thee from my shot. Such warm regard 
 Had early note of thy domestic turn, 91 
 
 And piteous fable of the murder 'd babes, 
 Beneath a simple grave of gather'd leaves, 
 In solitary forest deep interr'd 
 
 \y thee, engender'd in my childish breast. 95 
 
 >till charm me with thy song ; my care shall be 
 guard thy person, and relieve thy wants. 
 
 Sow for the sport equipp'd, once more I take 
 To the wide-spreading woods my joyous way : 
 Hope pweetly whispers to my mind success. 100 
 
 I 
 
80 FOWLING. 
 
 One old and trusty pointer at my side 
 Attends, and conscious of the destin'd joy, 
 Oft eyes with earnest gaze the distant shades. 
 Yet, ere we pierce the forest's deep recess, 
 Let us the skirting hedge-rows well explore, 105 
 And yon thick field of verdant turnips beat. 
 Then well content, nor doubtful if we left 
 In open ground the game, with patient toil 
 Through the close tangled covert shall we press. 
 There doubtless shall we find the lazy nide, 110 
 That by no droppings of th' o'er-arching trees 
 Disturb'd, in their warm shelter still remain. 
 Forward ! my faithful dog ; for here we waste 
 The precious hours in vain. Here at this gap, 
 Here will we enter, where the yellow leaves, 115 
 The first pale ofF'rings of the trembling woods 
 
FOWLING. Si 
 
 To tyrant Winter, by his servile slaves 
 
 Eurus, and Boreas gather'd, strew the ground. 
 
 Now put your vigour forth, my old ally, 119 
 
 And round this op'ning glade, with circling steps 
 
 The clust'ring thickets range. Ah ! there they rise. 
 
 One haply comes this way. The gun resounds. 
 
 I saw him fall beneath the mossy branch 
 
 Of that wide-spreading oak. Yes, there he lies 
 
 His vivid plumage, like an heap of gems 125 
 
 On a coarse carpet spread, seems all too rich 
 
 For the rough russet ground on which it lies. 
 
 Fellows in death, as of the self-same wood 
 
 Inhabitants, which idly they suppos'd 
 
 Their own peculiar and secure abode, 1 30 
 
 Soon others fall. With fierce desire enflam'd 
 
 Of further sport, I force my eager way 
 p 
 
82 FOWLING. 
 
 Through all impediments. Nor pointed thorns 
 That threaten from above, nor from below 
 The stubborn bramble, rooted deep inearth, 135 
 That would detain my steps, can ought avail. 
 Thus through the yielding woods I drive along, 
 With various fortune. Oft the whirring bird 
 Eludes my threaten'd aim ; or makes escape 
 From the fast following shot, by num'rous boughs 
 Half intercepted : oft th' unwelcome hen, 141 
 Secure from danger of the sounding gun, 
 Rises before me. But enough for me 
 The spoils I gain. Nor would I stay my sport, 
 But that my weary dog needs, and deserves 145 
 A short cessation from his toil severe, 
 And the cool draught to brace his languid frame. 
 Deep in the centre of this mazy wood, 
 
 
FOWLING. 83 
 
 I know a pool, which, fed by secret streams, 
 Unseen, that issue from beneath, winds off 150 
 With silent stealthy course 'mid the long grass, 
 And the green rushes that surround its bed. 
 Thither we take our way through many a path, 
 By old experience known, but ne'er the less 154 
 Try well the ground between. My faithful dog, 
 What can requite thy merits ! though thou long'st 
 
 To taste the cooling stream, that tempting lies 
 
 < 
 
 Full in thy sight, thou turn'st aside to try 
 
 The thicket on its brink, and there thou stand'st, 
 Denoting with fix'd point the hidden game. 160 
 There ! at thy feet it lies outstretch'd in death. 
 With careful nose thou turn'st it o'er and o'er ; 
 Then gladly speed'st to taste the cooling stream ; 
 
84 FOWLING. 
 
 Now come thy ways,— and whilst beneath this 
 
 beech 
 I sit reclin'd and ruminate at ease, 165 
 
 Or draw my simple viands from my scrip, 
 Stretch'd at my feet enjoy refreshing sleep. 
 
 How noble is the look of this deep wood, 
 That rears its lofty crest above the high'st 
 And proudest domes of man ! Here Nature reigns 
 In simple majesty. O thoughtless man, 171 
 
 That on the wholesome forest turn'st thy back, 
 And crowd'st in smoky towns ; that long'st for life, 
 Yet thine own life contract'st : with eager foot 
 That follow'st pleasure, yet with senseless act 175 
 Beget'st and multipliest thy cares ! can wealth 
 
FOWLING. 85 
 
 Prolong thy days ; can sounding titles soothe 
 Thy care-worn soul to rest ; thy mad pursuit 
 Of worldly vanities, will it afford 
 Such lasting joys as the sweet sylvan chace ? 180 
 But if the world's wide theatre demand 
 Variety of actors, drop awhile 
 Thy chosen part, and in the rural scene 
 Recruit thy frame, and recreate thy mind. 
 Ah no ! the force of early habit cramps 185 
 
 The biass'd soul, nor grants it to enjoy 
 Impartial Nature's pure and perfect gifts : 
 O then, deny not to your youthful sons, 
 Parents of Britain, ev'ry rural sport. 
 Give them to back the steed, and through the 
 chace 190 
 
 To wind their fearless way — to wield the gun 
 
86 FOWLING. 
 
 On moor or mountain, or in thorny depth 
 
 Of forest intricate ; nor less to seek, 
 
 'Mid slipp'ry rocks, and hoarse-resounding floods, 
 
 The noblest tenants of the stream. Then Health 
 
 Shall brace their vig'rous frames, and Cheerfulness, 
 
 Health's handmaid, fill their souls with harmless 
 
 And oft retiring from life's busy walk, 
 From glorious toils of war by sea or shore, 
 Or serious civil cares, or deep pursuit 200 
 
 Commercial, to their native homes awhile ; 
 With what redoubled ardour shall they seek 
 Their ancient sportive haunts, rejoic'd to think, 
 Their early years the grateful habit gain d. 
 Tremble not, tender mothers, at the toils 205 
 Or dangers of the sportsman ; early use 
 
FOWLING. 87 
 
 And gradual, shall subdue the pow'r of toil, 
 
 And strengthen, not impair the youthful frame* 
 
 Danger, by prudent knowledge and advice, 
 
 Or wise example of some steady friend, 210 
 
 ij ' ' 
 
 Averted, soon shall dwindle down to nought. 
 
 And longer may you see your manly sons 
 
 Surround your chair, or when infirm with age 
 
 You need support, that kind support aiford, 
 
 Than if, in early youth, with ill-judg'd care, 215 
 
 Like hot-house plants you rear'd your tender race, 
 
 Then turn'd it out in the pestifrous town 
 
 To seek amusement at the swelt'ring ball, 
 
 Or breathe in theatres infectious air. 
 
 Nor shall so soon insidious Vice corrupt 220 
 
 The stripling, on his rustic sport intent, 
 
 As the gay idler, in whose listless mind, 
 
88 FOWLING. 
 
 The busy fiend Temptation gains with ease 
 A ready entrance, and a fix'd abode. 
 
 Thanks to th' indulgent stars that, far remov'd 
 From the loud din of the wild-jarring world, 226 
 Its misnam'd pleasures and its real cares, 
 In the sequester'd vale 'midst woods and streams 
 And rocky mountains plac'd my happy lot, 
 At equal distance from the worldling's state, 230 
 Or solitary hermit's ; free to taste 
 The truest blessings of society, 
 And its worst evils haply to escape. 
 And blest those early habits, that impress'd 
 My youthful mind, and taught me to adore 235 
 The charms of Nature, and the sylvan toil. 
 No tedious hours hang heavy on my hands ; 
 
FOWLING. SO 
 
 Nor dreading e'er the fiercest Summer's sun, 
 Nor shrinking from the Winter's keenest blast, 
 Listless I doze the weary hours away ; 240 
 
 But exercise, improv'd by the keen sport 
 That fills and agitates my eager mind, 
 With healthful joys beguiles the fleeting day. 
 E'en here, extended on the verdant moss 
 That clothes the twisted roots of this tall tree, 245 
 What tranquil pleasure soothes my careless mind ! 
 Whilst all that meets the eye or strikes the ear 
 Harmonious mingling, swells the woodland scene. 
 Nor the soft whisper of the passing gale 
 Amidst the trembling leaves, nor various hues 250 
 Those leaves that sweetly paint, nor sights nor 
 
 sounds 
 Inanimate, alone unite to please. 
 
90 FOWLING. 
 
 Borne on the breeze, from the high-furrow'd field, 
 The ploughman's steady chaunt to his slow team 
 Monotonous, I mark. The blackbird pipes 255 
 From the green holly ; then with thoughtless wing 
 Close glances by my side ; but wheeling short, 
 Alters his course, and, shrieking as he flies, 
 Proclaims his groundless fears. The little wren 
 Flits on from branch to branch, 'till o'er my head 
 With tail erect and nodding head, he vents 261 
 Chatt'ring, his anger at intrusive man. 
 Above, with circling flight, the rav'nous kite 
 Sails slowly o'er the wood, and stooping oft,' 
 Brushes the topmost boughs, and with keen eye 
 Explores the ground beneath ; 'till hither led 266 
 By chance, he startles at my dang'rous form, 
 Flaps his wide wings, and quickly soars aloft. 
 
FOWLING. 91 
 
 Through wither'd grass and ferns the whitethroat 
 
 creeps, 
 Oft stopping to inhale the scented air 270 
 
 With eager nose ; then fast, with foot as light 
 As falling leaf, he nimbly winds away. 
 These each well pleas'd in turn I mark, nor scorn 
 The feeble remnant of the insect race, 
 That flutter'd in the summer sun, to note ; 275 
 Then fix'd in earnest gaze, and haply lost 
 In reverie profound, the swimming scene 
 Has danc'd before my eyes, a day-dream gay. 
 
 Time steals away the while, 'till starting up, 
 Full of the recollected sport, I seize 280 
 
 My gun, and with impatient voice arouse 
 
92 FOWLING. 
 
 My slumb'ring dog. Through the dark wood the 
 
 sun 
 Streams his declining rays ; on ev'ry side 
 The lengthen'd shadows fall, and Evening waits 
 Impatient for the ling'ring Day's decrease. 285 
 Still through the echoing wood my gun resounds ; 
 At intervals still falls the fated bird. 
 'Till in a verdant glade of wide extent, 
 With bushes skirted, and gigantic arms 
 Of loftiest trees half over-hung, I pause ; 290 
 And whilst the setting sun sheds his last rays 
 Upon the waving wood, still try the chance 
 Th' allotted time permits. I ask no more 
 Than his diurnal course affords, nor brave 
 The wise restrictive law : abhorr'd by me, 295 
 
FOWLING. 93 
 
 Each act that with the poacher's deeds accords, 
 
 A worthless desp'rate race, that thus commence 
 
 I 
 
 Their predatory course which leads them oft 
 
 To a disgraceful end. At night they steal 
 
 i 
 
 Into the silent woods ; the fraudful wires 300 
 
 And nets are duly set ; the startled hares 
 
 From their warm seats arous'd, with fatal speed 
 
 Rush to the secret snare. High overhead 
 
 The unsuspecting pheasants roost in peace, 
 
 But Death invades their slumbers ; prone they fall 
 
 And cramm'd with haste into the furtive bag 306 
 
 Are borne away. Or should their route be trac'd 
 
 And watchful keepers bar the destin'd path, 
 
 Seldom they deign to fly, but fiercely raise 
 
 The knotted club, and deal the murd'rous blow. 
 
 Let the law weed such poison from the land, 311 
 
94 FOWLING. 
 
 And you manorial lords select with care 
 
 The guardians of your game. Let them unite 
 
 With honest diligence, behaviour mild 
 
 And courteous language, nor insult the ear 315 
 
 Of the indignant Fowler ; least of all 
 
 Presume to seize his gun, or raise their own 
 
 Against his ranging dogs. What fatal ills 
 
 Have often sprung from such intemp'rate deeds ! 
 
 Eugenio lov'd the sport, — with dog and gun 320 
 To traverse woods and wilds was his delight : 
 Nor scanty his demesne, but often led 
 By youthful ardour he pursued his sport 
 Beyond its limits ; liberal himself 
 He claim'd a like indulgence at the hands 325 
 Of others : unassuming in his gait, 
 
 
FOWLING. 95 
 
 And plain in his attire. 'Twas when the woods 
 Were with autumnal colours richly dyed 
 In a fair morn Eugenio sallied forth 
 To seek the pheasant's haunts. Gaily he rov'd 330 
 From field to field, from wood to wood, till now 
 Heedless of time or space thro' scenes unknown 
 He urg'd his pleasing sport. A threat'ning voice 
 Broke sudden on his ear, — with hasty stride 
 An angry keeper came ; or swoll'n with pride 
 And insolence of office, or deceiv'd 336 
 
 By his plain garb and unattended state 
 He rashly strove to seize the sportsman's gun. 
 Th' insulted sportsman easily repell'd 
 With powerful arm the vain attempt. Enrag'd 
 The keeper backward drew, and at his dog 341 
 Took his unerring aim. Welt'ring in blood 
 

 96 FOWLING. 
 
 The faithful creature fell, and fondly turn'd 
 
 On his lov'd master his last dying look. 
 
 Surprize and rage o'erpower'd Eugenio's soul, 
 
 But soon Revenge thro' every kindling vein 346 
 
 Impell'd the fiery blood : with eager eye 
 
 He mark'd the keeper's dogs, and singling out 
 
 The fairest, laid him lifeless at his feet ; 
 
 Nor had he stopp'd, but with reloaded piece 350 
 
 Had dealt swift death around, — But now his foe 
 
 Fear-struck withdrew into the tangled wood, 
 
 Yet with him bore Eugenio's name and place, 
 
 With angry voice convey'd. He to his lord 
 
 With glozing tale and specious lies return'd. 355 
 
 Meantime Eugenio o'er his slaughter'd dog 
 
 Stood meditating mournfully and long, 
 
 Till by a passing peasant's ready hand 
 l 
 
FOWLING. 97 
 
 He saw the green sod rais'd— then homeward bent 
 His melancholy way. Little he deem'd 360 
 
 'Ere many days were pass'd himself should press 
 As still and cold a bed. Ah, could he bear 
 In manhood's early prime the foul reproach 
 Of meditated falsehood, or submit 
 To mean apologies — himself first wrong'd ? 365 
 He taunt for taunt, and threat for threat return'd. 
 Two fiery spirits met at Honour's call — 
 (So erring man terms custom's impious law) 
 Eugenio fell ; — and left his fall deplor'd 
 By all who knew his worth ; one chief who claims 
 Preeminence of sorrow. Who is she 371 
 
 That sits and marks the gath'ring shades of eve, 
 And sighing says, Why are his steps delay'd ? 
 Where are his bounding dogs that gladly tell 
 
 G 
 
98 FOWLING. 
 
 His near approach ? Unhappy Viola ! 375 
 
 Thy husband is a corse. — In the chill breeze 
 That visits thy pale cheek, by thee unfelt, 
 His wand'ring ghost may sit. 
 
 The sun has sunk 
 Beneath th' horizon, but full many a streak 
 Of brightest purple, in the western sky, 380 
 
 Yet paints each object ; their deep glowing hue, 
 By this keen air accompanied, denotes 
 Approaching Frost, whose secret unseen hand, 
 Long ere to-morrow's dawn gladdens the world, 
 Shall o'er the meads his hoary mantle spread. 385 
 Much do I love to take my sober way 
 Through the deep woods, on such an eve as this, 
 And mark the gradual change from red to grey, 
 
FOWLING. 99 
 
 In the clear ev'ning sky — reflected thence 
 On each surrounding object, 'till it sinks 390 
 Into one solid mass of dusky shade. 
 And oft to stop beneath the tow'ring trees 
 Whose nodding heads in whisp'ring converse wave, 
 Whilst indistinctly seen, the flitting bat 
 Around my head his circling course pursues. 398 
 Thus through the winding shades as slow I pass, 
 The pheasant cockets, ere he seeks in sleep 
 To close his brilliant eye, whilst whistling sharp 
 In her descending flight his mate responds. 
 Now darker grow the woods. The friendly 
 moon 400 
 
 Beams not for me to-night ; but the bright stars 
 Twinkling, deny not their inferior aid. 
 Now many a sound throngs on the list'ning ear, 
 
100 FOWLING. 
 
 Peculiar to the night, its source unknown, 
 Whilst hoarse the night-owl croaks or screeches 
 loud. 405 
 
 Far difTrent is the lengthen'd strain that dwells 
 Oft on the moonlight scene. At such an hour 
 As this, creative Fear, with idle pow'r, 
 Peoples the forest with the murd'rous band, 
 That by the narrow path, in dingle deep, 410 
 Awaits the traveler's steps ; nor yet content 
 With human horrors, from the world unknown, 
 With Superstition leagu'd, drags forth the forms 
 Of glaring spectres, and in ev'ry nook 
 And shadowy dell, the horrid phantoms plants. 
 Unhappy they, whose infant minds are left 416 
 Unguarded by a parent's fost'ring care 
 From vulgar Prejudice, whose baneful touch 
 
FOWLING 101 
 
 No after season ever shall efface; 419 
 
 Half Nature's stores to them are lost : the night, 
 That soothes th' unfetter'd soul to sweet repose, 
 For them breeds horrors ; and the shadowy woods, 
 For Contemplation's tranquil pleasures form'd, 
 Swarm with imagin'd monsters. Should their feet, 
 By cruel Fate constraint, tempt the deep gloom, 
 They hurry on bewilder'd and amaz'd ; 426 
 
 With sidelong glance, suspicious, eye their way, 
 Whilst their ear startles at each unknown sound, 
 Th' unwelcome voice of deep desponding ghosts, 
 Or evil demons that pursue their steps. 430 
 
 Far other feelings fill'd my placid breast, 
 As at this gap I pass'd at early morn. 
 My footsteps linger, whilst my faithful dog, 
 Advanc'd before, views me with doubtful eye, 
 
102 FOWLING. 
 
 Nor comprehends my meaning ; 'till again 435 
 I move, and through the meads pursue my way. 
 Already has the frost with subtle touch 
 The bladed herbage crisp'd, — yet not the less, 
 To-morrow shall we wake the sounding woods, 
 And urge our vig'rous sport with fresh delight. 440 
 
 END OF BOOK III. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 WOODCOCK-SHOOTING. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Approach of Winler. Birds driven by the severity of the 
 cold across (he ocean. The passage of the woodcock. 
 Often peiishes through contrary winds. Appearance 
 of fieldfares, plovers, and starlings, foretells the season 
 for wdodcock-shooting. The impatient fowler beats 
 for woodcocks before their arrival. At length they 
 come. Fine frosty evening. Examining the gun, and 
 feeding the spaniels. Rising before day-break. Going 
 out. Winter morning, and sun-rise. Rural sights and 
 sounds. Viewing the ground to be beat, from the top 
 of the hilL The woodcock's habits and naunts on his 
 first coming. Putting the spaniels into the woods. 
 Flushing and killing a woodcock. Beating through 
 the woods. Reaching a sheltered, sunny spot beween 
 two woods. View from thence. Pursuing the sport 
 'till evening. Return home by moonlight. Hard frost. 
 Resolution to make the most of the time. Woodcocks 
 leave the woods, and repair to the cliffs on the south- 
 ern coasts, in extreme frost. Reaching home, and 
 farewell to the woods aud their inhabitants for the 
 night. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 WOODCOCK-SHOOTING. 
 
 How has great Nature's hand, unseen that works 
 Through the revolving seasons, chang'd the scene ! 
 Stripp'd of its fruits and flow'rs and verdure gay, 
 Nor one autumnal beauty left, the Earth, 
 Wrapt in her dusky mantle, sees resigned 5 
 
 Stern Winter's wayward reign commence. At first, 
 Chill rain incessant pouring, floods the fields ; 
 And from opposing quarters mighty winds, 
 On the same errand bent, with busy hands, 
 Tear from the groaning woods the ling'ring leaves. 
 
106 FOWLING. 
 
 The rattling hail descends, undoubted pledge 1 1 
 Of frost and snow and tempest yet to come. 
 There are who view with melancholy eye 
 And sadden'd heart the scene, and sighing, breathe 
 The fervent wish for the green Spring's return. 
 Not so the fowler — with keen glance he marks 16 
 The wint'ry landscape, and whilst busy thought 
 Runs o'er his varying sport, his joyous heart 
 Beats high, and dances to the sounding storm. 
 But should the rough north-east continuous blow, 
 A livelier hope inflates his eager soul : 21 
 
 For from the frozen north, where Winter's hand, 
 With sway despotic and untam'd, locks up 
 The shrinking world ; o'er the wide ocean borne 
 On vig'rous wing, pour forth the feather'd tribes 
 Diverse and strange. In congregated flight 26 
 
FOWLING. 107 
 
 The woodcock comes, in milder climes to seek 
 A temporary refuge, from the jaws 
 Of wide devouring famine ; all unskill'd 
 To shun the death that still his path pursues. 30 
 Nor will th' instinctive feeling always serve 
 Th' intended purpose, though he, patient waits 
 The fav'ring gale, and right before it, steers 
 His steady course above the swelling waves. 
 Oft shifting from it's point, the faithless wind 35 
 Deserts him, or with adverse power repels 
 His lab 'ring wing. Ill fares it with him then, 
 On stormy seas mid-way surpris'd : no land 
 It's swelling breast presents, where safe reclin'd 
 His panting heart might find a short repose ; 40 
 But wide around the hoarse-resounding seas 
 Meet his dim eye. Should some tall ship appear 
 
108 FOWLING. 
 
 High bounding o'er the waves, urg'd by despair, 
 He seeks the rocking masts, and throws him down 
 Amid the twisted cordage — thence repell'd, 45 
 If instant blows deprive him not of life, 
 He flutters weakly on, and drops at last, 
 Helpless and flound'ring in the whit'ning surge. 
 Yet not the perils of th* aerial voyage, 
 Nor varied death, that hovers on the shore 50 
 From guns, and nets, and hairy springes, serve 
 The fruitful race t' extirpate. When the year 
 Struggles to break from Winter's rough embrace, 
 And with a livelier vesture clothe the earth, 
 The woodcock musters on the sea-beat shore 55 
 His bands decreas'd. On some propitious day 
 He springs aloft, and through the pathless air 
 With course unerring, seeks his native shores. 
 
FOWLING. 109 
 
 Perchance in some Norwegian forest vast, 
 Beneath colossal pines and mingl'd firs, 60 
 
 Where murm'ring streams with fruitful current, 
 
 wind 
 Again their wonted course, his old abode, 
 He plumes his spotted wing anew, and gives 
 His yielding heart to love : Fearless he roves 
 Amidst his feather'd family, 'till Fate 65 
 
 Coercive drive him forth to other lands, 
 In happy ign'rance of impending death. 
 
 As now the season comes, the fowler marks 
 Sagacious ev'ry change, and feeds his hopes 
 With signs predictive. On the leafless tree 70 
 The fieldfare sits, and his shrill note repeats 
 Monotonous. Loud o'er the shrivell'd heath 
 
110 FOWLING. 
 
 Whistles the plover, and along the meads 
 With busy bill the dusky starlings spread. 
 Impatient of restraint, he brooks no more 75 
 
 The long delay, but to the echoing wood 
 His loud-tongued spaniels takes, and toils, and tries 
 Each ferny thicket, and each miry swamp. 
 Thence bursting forth, he beats the furzy brakes 
 And shelter'd hedge-rows ; nor forsakes the chace 
 'Till clear conviction satisfies his mind. 81 
 
 The sordid rustic with a promis'd fee 
 He bribes, should chance present before his sight 
 The wand'ring woodcock, instant to impart 
 The welcome news. Less anxious to receive 85 
 Intelligence of richly freighted ships 
 The merchant feels, than of th' expected flight 
 Th' impatient fowler. But at length they come : 
 
FOWLING. Ill 
 
 And, scattering o'er the land, inspire our breasts 
 With eager hope of recollected joys. 90 
 
 With gladden'd heart, I see the sun go down 
 In fiery pride, and leave the helpless world 
 To all the rigour of relentless frost ; 
 And lighter move my steps o'er the crisp earth, 
 Whilst fast, and high, my mounting spirits rise. 95 
 Soon as the shades of night have veil'd the world, 
 I issue forth to view the heav'ns, and mark 
 Whence blows the wind. Unclouded are the 
 
 heav'ns, 
 And from the north still blows the biting wind. 
 Ye deep incumbent fogs, and cheerless rains, 100 
 O keep far hence ; nor with malignant pow'r, 
 Frustrate the promise of our jocund sport. 
 Now let us with due care examine well 
 
112 FOWLING. 
 
 The trusty gun ; the polish'd lock explore 
 Through all its parts; and with the fine-edg'd 
 flint 105 
 
 Fit well the bending cock, 'till the bright sparks 
 Descending fill the pan ; precaution due. 
 Next to the kennel let us haste, to view 
 The spotted spaniels lap their sav'ry meal. 
 Thence to the friendly couch, invoking Sleep 110 
 Oblivious, to lock up the busy thoughts, 
 In kind forgetfulness of slow-pac'd time. 
 Ere the grey dawn breaks from the shadowy east, 
 Startling I wake, and springing from the couch, 
 In haste array me in my russet garb. 115 
 
 Descending by the taper's light, I take 
 My early silent meal — then haste away 
 In hollow woods, or deep entangled brakes. 
 
FOWLING. 113 
 
 Or winding vales, to pass the joyous day. 
 My spaniels clam'ring loud, awake the morn 120 
 IVith notes of joy, and leaping high, salute 
 With grateful tongue my hand, and frisk around 
 In sportive circles ; 'till the loaded gun 
 Breaks off their idle play, and at my heels 
 Submiss they follow, and await the word 125 
 
 That bids them dash into the welcome woods. 
 Nor less delight my beating heart distends, 
 As with impatient stride I haste to gain 
 The destined ground. Yet can I not forbear 
 To gaze around, and mark the scene I love. 130 
 
 Sharp is the morning air, and not a cloud 
 Sullies the heavens, in whose highest cope 
 The rear of darkness slowly steals away ; 
 
 H 
 
114 FOWLING* 
 
 Whilst sick'ning at the day, the morning star 
 Fades from the straining eye. And soon a glow 
 Springs in the changing east, — deep and more 
 
 deep 136 
 
 The rosy colour grows, 'till its great source, 
 The glorious sun, breaks on th' expecting world, 
 And throws a splendour o'er the wintry scene. 
 Now wakes the country round, and mingled 
 
 sounds 140 
 
 Invade th' attentive ear, through the clear air 
 Unclogg'd by vapours, borne. The village cur, 
 Envious and quarrelsome, is loudest heard ; 
 'Till with wide-flapping wings the screaming geese 
 Drown for a time his din. The sharp shrill voice 
 Of angry mother, to their coarse repast 
 Calling her straggling children, meets me next. 
 
FOWLING. 115 
 
 Meantime, at intervals, the distant brook 
 
 Swells hoarsely in the breeze, and scarcely seems 
 
 A furlong distant. From the frosty fields, 150 
 
 The lowing herds welcome th' approaching swain, 
 i 
 
 With oaten burden heap'd upon his back. 
 
 Labour again pursues his varied task : 
 
 Let sport his task with equal steps pursue. 
 
 choicest season of the circling year, 155 
 Though ev'ry season has appropriate joys, 
 
 1 hail thy presence ! and my rapt'rous soul 
 Gives the full rein to joy. No burning sun 
 Now checks my speed, nor bathes in weak'ning 
 
 dews 
 My fainting frame ; but the keen bracing air 160 
 Fits me for vast and unremitting toil. 
 Let all the wintry stores that Nature owns, 
 
116 FOWLING. 
 
 Redoubling load the earth ; nor sharpest frost, 
 Nor heaviest depth of snow, shall check my 
 
 course, 
 Nor force me, 'till the genial Spring's return, 165 
 To lay my gun aside. Nor is the sport 
 Less grateful than the season, ever new 
 And varying; whilst by piercing cold constrain'd, 
 And hunger's loud demands, from ev'ry point 
 The tenants of the woods and fields and floods 
 Within a narrower compass crowd, and oft, 171 
 From ling'ring death by no unfriendly fate 
 Reliev'd, increase the fowler's cheerful spoils. 
 On the hill top I pause, and cast around 
 O'er the wide varied scene a doubtful eye, 175 
 Uncertain where to tend. When first he comes 
 From his long journey o'er the unfriendly main, 
 
FOWLING. 117 
 
 With weary wing the woodcock throws him down, 
 Impatient for repose, on the bare cliffs ; 179 
 
 Thence with short flight the nearest cover seeks, 
 Low copse or straggling furze ; 'till the deep woods 
 Invite him to take up his fixt abode. 
 Oft on the shelter'd side of some high hill, 
 If cruel frost bind not th' ungrateful soil, 
 Content he wanders, or beneath the shade 185 
 Of scatter'd hollies, turns with curious bill 
 The fallen leaves, to find his hidden food. 
 When the thick shelter of the spreading woods 
 His wand'ring eye with friendly aspect tempts, 
 At morn and eve he seeks the limpid streams, 1 90 
 And springing thence, his stated flight he takes 
 By the dim light, through op'ning glades: there oft 
 The treach'rous net his rapid course cuts short, 
 
 ! 
 
118 FOWLING. 
 
 And his fast fluttering pinions beat in vain. 
 
 But if with steep ascent he top the snare, 195 
 
 Or side-long scape it, through the withered ferns 
 
 He picks his silent way, or dozing lies 
 
 In the o'er-shadowing bush, till with keen nose 
 
 The ranging spaniel winds his close retreat, 
 
 And drives him forth, to meet the fowler's aim. 
 
 Where breaking into clumps, the scatter'd wood 
 First opens to the sun, and winding down 
 Between opposing hills, receives a stream 
 Whose bubbling fountain yields not to the force 
 Of keen invading frost, let us commence 205 
 Our earnest sport. Though silently we beat 
 At other seasons, let our joyful cheers, 
 In concert with the opting dogs, resound 
 
 : 
 
FOWLING. 119 
 
 " Hie in." — At that glad word away they dart, 
 And winding various ways, with careful speed 210 
 Explore the cover. Hark ! that quest proclaims 
 The woodcock's haunt. Again! now joining all, 
 They shake the echoing wood with tuneful notes. 
 I heard the sounding wing — but down the wood 
 He took his flight. I meet him there anon. 215 
 As fast I press to gain the wish'd for spot, 
 On either side my busy spaniels try. 
 At once they wheel — at once they open loud, 
 And the next instant, flush th' expected bird. 
 Right up he darts amongst the mingling boughs ; 
 But bare of leaves they hide not from my view 
 His fated form, and ere he can attain 
 Th' attempted height, with rapid flight to cleave 
 The yielding air, arrested by the shot, 224 
 
? 
 
 120 FOWLING. 
 
 With shatter'd wing revers'd and plumage fair 
 Wide scattering in the wind, headlong he falls. 
 The pliant branches to his weight give way, 
 And the hard frozen ground his fall returns* 
 See how the joyful dogs exulting, press 
 Around the prostrate victim, nor presume 230 
 With lawless mouths to tear his tender skin. 
 Obedient to my voice one lightly brings 
 The lifeless bird, and lays it at my feet. 
 Thus oft when skimming o'er some thorny brake, 
 Struck by the shot, the wounded bird has dropt 
 Full in its centre, through the tangled briars 236 
 The trusty dog his painful passage works, 
 Nor leaves, 'till from the dark abyss he drags, 
 The flutt'ring prey, and yields it to my hand. 
 " Forward again." Long is our beat to-day, 2i0 
 
FOWLING. 121 
 
 And unremitting. Merrily we trace 
 The winding vales, and through the forest brush ; 
 Upon the bord'ring plain emerging oft, 
 We swiftly glide along, then plunge again 
 Into the woody labyrinth profound ; 24-5 
 
 Whilst Echo, starting from her hollow seat, 
 With babbling voice reverberates our course. 
 Sport o'dr our jovial toils presides, and fans 
 The ardent flame that in our bosom glows. 
 Now granting, now denying to our hope 250 
 
 The threaten'd bird, enhancing thus the prize, 
 'Till with increas'd delight, the feather'd spoil 
 Fills high our breast, and rocks, and woods, and 
 
 streams, 
 Steep hill, or precipice abrupt, appear 
 As smooth and easy as the new-mown mead. 255 
 
122 FOWLING. 
 
 There is a narrow path that leads athwart 
 TV entangl'd shade, conducting to the brow 
 Of a steep hill, betwixt two mighty woods, 
 Itself o'erspread with trees of humbler growth, 
 And skirted round with hollies, furze, and shrubs 
 Of meaner kind. Upon that favour'd spot 261 
 Shines the warm sun, and as a kindly screen, 
 The forest fences the rough northern blast. 
 Deep in the vale below, a riv'let winds 
 Its interrupted way through moss and mire. 265 
 To gain that spot I haste j there oft success 
 Has crown'd my warmest wishes, and if Fate 
 Forbid not, shall this happy morn 
 Crown them again. The dogs shall range around, 
 Wide as they list ; for not a wing shall start 270 
 From the close shelt'ring cover unobserv'd. 
 
FOWLING. 123 
 
 Beneath the crooked branches, stooping low, 
 I win my eager way, and reach at length 
 My well-known station. From their warm retreat 
 On ev'ry side th' affrighted woodcocks burst, 275 
 Bird after bird, whilst frequent death o'ertakes 
 Their intercepted flight, and darting down 
 Deep in th' opposing wood, the rest I mark. 
 
 Now, the surrounding ground well clear'd, we 
 call 
 The panting dogs to heel, and ere we drive 280 
 Precipitate into the woods again, 
 With short cessation mark the subject scene. 
 Well may we pause to-day ! may Fortune smile 
 As kindly on each fowler's gen'rous toils, 
 As she has done on ours ! and many a one 285 
 
124 FOWLING. 
 
 E'en now her favour courts ; for wide around 
 The country echoes with the mingled noise 
 Of dogs and guns, and far resounding cheers. 
 On yonder hill a fowler meets my eye, 
 Where, spreading wide its navigable wave, 290 
 The winding river severs in its course 
 The kindred soil, — diminish'd to a dwarf 
 Himself, — his dogs as dwarfish, and the smoke 
 That issues from his gun, long time precedes 
 The faint report. How grateful is the beam 295 
 Of the meridian sun, that cheers the world 
 With no intemp'rate warmth ! Ail nature owns 
 His sov'reignty benign, and where he points 
 His condescending ray, the mourning Earth 
 Smiles faintly, whilst his icy gripe awhile, 300 
 Stern Winter half relaxes. Were it not 
 
FOWLING. 125 
 
 For the bare forest, and the sallow fields, 
 Their wither'd herbage sprinkled o'er with frost, 
 The wanton smile of Summer might be deem'd 
 To play upon yon azure wave, where rides 305 
 The vessel whose gay flag descends in folds 
 From the high top-mast, by no breeze disturb'd. 
 Yet far more grateful now the rudest scene 
 Of the rough season to the fowler's eye, 
 Presaging all the fulness of his sport. 310 
 
 No more we linger here, but rushing down, 
 Deep through the dusky woods pursue our way. 
 The woods again resound : whilst wand'ring wide 
 O'er hill and vale, by many a frozen pool 
 Or trickling stream, from hour to hour we urge 
 The varying chace, 'till on the western edge 316 
 Of a gigantic forest, whose deep shade 
 
126 FOWLING. 
 
 Now glimmers in the fading light, we end 
 Reluctantly the day, and turn our steps 319 
 
 Tow'rds our far distant home. Yet shall the way 
 Seem short, by many a pleasing thought beguil'd, 
 Of recollected or of future sport. 
 
 Night steals upon the world with silent step 
 And rapid, but in vain she spreads around 
 Her envious gloom ; the glitt'ring stars invade 325 
 Her sullen pow'r, and soon the welcome moon 
 Shall reign triumphant o'er the subject world. 
 E'en now I mark her first pale beam appear 
 Between the trees, most like the trembling ray 
 Of taper, in the cottage window plac'd. 330 
 
 But broader soon it swells upon the sight, 
 With pleasing majesty confess'd, and drives 
 
FOWLING. 127 
 
 Far o'er the rugged hills the frowning shades. 
 Now with invisible but steady hand, 
 Obdurate Frost his busy labour plies, 335 
 
 And walking o'er the trembling earth, repairs 
 The ruins of the day, by the warm sun 
 Effected, or invading foot of man, 
 Or beast. The floating fragments he collects 
 And firmly fixes ; on the struggling stream 340 
 He lays his powerful hand with added force, 
 And it becomes ere morn a glitt'ring bridge. 
 E'en the loud rushing cataract he robs 
 Of half his waters, and to uncouth forms 344 
 Converting, hangs them to the slipp'ry rocks. 
 Shrill cries the snipe beneath the friendly moon, 
 Wand'ring to find the springs, constraint to quit 
 The long frequented marsh, whose rushy pools, 
 
128 FOWLING. 
 
 Lock'd up in ice, repel his searching bill. 
 
 The heav'ns, the earth, and the keen air foretell 
 
 Severer cold. The menace I despise, 351 
 
 And triumph in my winter-harden'd frame, 
 
 And quick unwearied step, that bids the blood 
 
 With lively current circle through my veins. 
 
 Unhappy he, who on the slipp'ry road 355 
 
 Bestrides his stagg'ring steed, and vainly strives 
 
 To fence him from the keen opposing blast, 
 
 Whose searching breath benumbs his shiv'ring 
 
 limbs : 
 And, oft alighting, by the bridle drags 
 His starting, trembling beast. No ice retards 360 
 My steady course; but cheerfully I pass 
 Along the destin'd way, and pleas'd revolve 
 Full many a promis'd pleasure yet to come. 
 
FOWLING. 129 
 
 Nor must a day be lost. Ere the stern frost 
 Has ev'ry stream in icy fetters bound, 365 
 
 We must ensure the sport. The woodcock then 
 Forsakes the barren woods, forsakes the meads, 
 And southward wings his way, by Nature taught 
 To seek once more the cliffs that overhang 
 The murm'ring main. There oft th' unfrozen 
 rill, 370 
 
 Moist'ning the scanty soil, full in the beam 
 Of the warm sun his eager eye invites, 
 And kindly cherishes his feeble frame. 
 Then flag the fowler's joys, when frowning rocks 
 Forbid approach, and scarce the clamb'ring dogs 
 Can gain a footing ; whilst the birds discern 376 
 Far off their forms, and flit from crag to crag, 
 Mocking the vain pursuit. But when again, 
 
130 FOWLING. 
 
 His fiercest fury spent, the Winter checks 
 His deep career, and sullenly withdraws 380 
 
 With intermitting hand his icy chains 
 From the desponding streams, the woodcock leaves 
 His unbelov'd abode and scanty fare, 
 And hies him to the shelt'ring woods, in search 
 Of his old fruitful haunts ; where feeding full, 385 
 He renovates his strength, prepar'd to take, 
 If Fate prevent him not, his painful voyage 
 With hardier wing across the swelling seas. 
 Then lose we not a day. To-morrow's dawn 
 Shall light us to the woods, intent to swell 390 
 With honest pride the triumphs of the year, 
 Through ev'ry season. We have yet in store 
 Succeeding joys ; to chace the wav'ring snipe, 
 And, by the river's side, whose rapid falls 
 
FOWLING 131 
 
 Deride the baffled frost, the various tribes 395 
 Web-footed, 'till the circling year bring in 
 The smiling Spring again, and bid us change 
 The solid gun, for the light bending rod 
 And silken line — Thus Sport shall still preside 
 O'er ev'ry hour that Exercise and Health 400 
 Can justly claim. Now welcome to my view 
 My humble home, — the cheerful blazing fire 
 More welcome still, and soon prepar'd repast. 
 Yon dog that bays the moon with ceaseless din, 
 Proclaims that home not distant; now it gleams 
 In the pale moon-beam, and a few short steps 
 Conduct me to the ready op'ning gate. 
 Ye frozen woods, and fields, and streams farewell ! 
 And you ye feather'd tenants, for the night ! 
 Enough for me, with joyous eye to view 500 
 
132 FOWLING. 
 
 Your lifeless fellows ; whilst mspiring Hope 
 Shall deem the grateful spoil a certain pledge 
 Of dear delightful pleasures yet to come. 
 
 END OP BOOK IV. 
 
BOOKV. 
 
 SNIPE-SHOOTING, 
 DUCK-SHOOTING, &c. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Appearance of the country in the depth of Winter. Snipe- 
 shootiner, and snow-showers. The ruined cottage. Even- 
 ing, and return borne. Female villagers with gathered 
 wood. Inhumanity of some rich people reprobated. 
 Invocation of sleep. Rising before day, and going to 
 the river. Shooting at a flock of wild-ducks. Increase 
 of day-light. Pushing forward — sun-rise, and splendid 
 appearance of the river, and the country. Various 
 kinds of shooting through the day. Skaiting. Return 
 home at the close of day. The fowler's fire-side, alone, 
 or with a family. Company of brother sportsmen. En- 
 comium on rural sports. The ease and security of a 
 country life. Self-congratulation, and prospective 
 views of life. Contempt of the luxuries of life. The 
 sportsman's grave. Address to Nature, and conclusion. 
 
BOOK V. 
 
 SNIPE-SHOOTING, 
 DUCK-SHOOTING, &c. 
 
 Now has stern Winter rear'd his icy throne 
 High o'er the prostrate world, and reigns 
 
 uncheck'd 
 In gorgeous majesty severely bright : 
 Beneath his furious sway, the trembling earth 
 Submissive sinks ; hill, vale, and wood, and stream, 
 Smiling and vocal once, now mute and sad. 6 
 High rise the glitt'ring mounts of drifted snow 
 With curling top. The pointed ice depends 
 
136 FOWLING. 
 
 Frequent and full from many a solid base. 
 Transform'd the country stands. The trav'ller 
 
 shrinks, 10 
 
 Dreading his unknown way : e'en they, who us'd 
 Beneath the Summer sun to wander free 
 Thro' flow'ry meads, or high o'er.arching woods, 
 Or by the murm'ring riv'let's mossy bank, 
 Now dread the open plain, or public road, 15 
 Beset with dangers to their fearful eye. 
 The fowler mocks their fears, nor dreads to tempt 
 The threat'ning scene, o'er levell'd hills to pass, 
 And frozen streams conceal 'd, and woods 
 
 disguis'd. 
 And does there for the fowler's hopes remain 20 
 A sport at this wild season ? Yes there does ; 
 Though of the feather'd tribes by Famine's gripe 
 
FOWLING. 137 
 
 Fall multitudes, gasping in rocky caves 
 And hollow trees, their little lives away. 
 The snipe, though sorely pinch'd, and half 
 
 reduc'd 25 
 
 In bulk, still braves the year ; with prying bill 
 Bores the light cover'd stream, and should it fail, 
 By hunger tam'd, drops in the trickling drain 
 Near dreaded man's abode. A lively sport 
 Affording to the fowler's varying hand, 30 
 
 As wheeling, oft returns, though often sprung, 
 The noisy bird. But a far nobler spoil 
 Awaits him on the river ; where the rocks 
 Aiding the roaring stream, it keeps at bay 
 The eager frost, and many a broken pool, 35 
 
 Half liquid and half solid, forms : the haunt 
 Of all the kindred tribes that love to cleave 
 
138 FOWLING. 
 
 With glossy breast and paddling feet the flood ; 
 Widgeon, or teal, or duck, — majestic swan, 
 Or heavy goose — with many a fowl beside 40 
 Of lesser size and note, who, when the world 
 Has sunk to rest, beneath the moon-beam dash 
 The sparkling tide. To-day we spring the snipe. 
 And with an eye as keen as does the bird 
 Himself, by hunger's strongest law compell'd, 45 
 Explore each shelter'd drain, or hollow ditch. 
 Curl'd on their warm and strawy beds, repose 
 My dogs, save two, whose coats sable and white, 
 And speckl'd legs, and tail well fring'd, and ears 
 Of glossy silken black, declare their kind, 50 
 
 By land or water, equally prepar'd 
 To work their busy way. My steps alone 
 These follow in the depth of Winter's reign. 
 
 
FOWLING. 1S£> 
 
 O'er many a mead, and many a marsh we pass, 
 Deep frozen ; till at length we reach a moor 55 
 Fast by a village, where at morn and eve 
 The herds, in search of drink, with pond'rous feet 
 Have pierc'd the rushy pools. With flutt'ring 
 
 wing 
 Rises the clam'rous wisp — scatt'ring at first 
 In all directions, but when high in air 60 
 
 Again unites, and wheels its wav'ring flight. 
 Oft on the shining hill they seem to drop, 
 And almost brush the snows, then rise again ; 
 As quickly to the vale once more descend : 
 'Till now in narrower circles round the moor, 65 
 Unwilling to forsake their fav'rite haunt, 
 They skim, then dart with rapid wing at once 
 Amongst the rushes, — but relentless Fate 
 
140 FOWLING. 
 
 Demands a victim, and the thund'ring gun 
 Soon executes the stern decree — he falls, 70 
 And stains the virgin snow with crimson gore. 
 At the dread sound again they mount aloft, 
 Affrighted sore, nor with so quick return 
 The dang'rous ground reseek, but fall around 
 Beneath the sunny hedges. — Vain resource ! 75 
 Soon shall we beat them up : but see, to glad 
 Our heart, those gath'ring clouds in the dun east 
 Presaging snow. Before the swelling breeze 
 They drive along, and blot the azure heav'ns, 
 And blot the fading sun. Now the thin flakes 
 Descending float around, but soon increase, 81 
 'Till all the mazy scene swims loosely round. 
 I hail the fall, my only care to keep 
 My priming dry : for hark ! the snipes distress'd, 
 
FOWLING. 141 
 
 Are on the wing again, and hither bend 85 
 
 Their unpropitious way. Beneath this hedge 
 Screen we ourselves and dogs — close o'er our head 
 The birds will skim: they come, compact and 
 
 close ; 
 When instant 'mid their ranks the whistling shot 
 Spreads dire destruction. Various is their fate ; 
 Some lifeless fall, others, with broken wing 91 
 Attempt, in vain, to rise again in air ; 
 But soon one common fate involves them all ; 
 Their poor remains of life my ready hand 
 With friendly mercy seizes. Thus we urge 
 Our joyous sport, whilst others shiv'ring view 96 
 From smoky dwellings the wild Winter's day, 
 'Till early darkness creeps upon the scene : 
 
142 FOWLING. 
 
 Then slowly leave the moor, resolv'd to seek 
 By earliest break of day, the river's side. 100 
 
 How prettily the polish'd ivy leaves 
 Support the glossy snow, round the rough breach 
 Of yonder ruin'd cottage, where the wren 
 Now sole possession claims. Those mould'ring 
 
 walls 
 Recall a simple melancholy tale. 105 
 
 Long had the rude-built dwelling screen'd the head 
 Of toil and poverty. — Successive names 
 Had mark'd the smoky rafters, till they bent 
 Beneath the weight of years. A youthful pair 
 Honest as poor, but rich in mutual love, 110 
 
 Were its last tenants. From his home remote 
 
FOWLING. 143 
 
 Robin his daily labour urg'd. To fell 
 
 The broad-spread oak, tall elm, andsmooth-bark'dash 
 
 To lop, to rind, or into brittle coals 
 
 To turn the various produce of the woods. 115 
 
 Janet the while plied the hoarse-sounding wheel, 
 
 Save when her infant charge, sole hope and joy 
 
 Of its unlettered parents, claim'd her care. 
 
 Winter had triumph'd long : the earth was bound, 
 
 With frozen bars ; day after day the snow 120 
 
 Fell unremitting. Robin still pursued 
 
 His wonted toil. At eve the thresher view'd 
 
 From the warm barn the weather-beaten man 
 
 Plodding with patient step his slipp'ry way 
 
 By the wood side, towards his much wished-for 
 home. 125 
 
 That home he reach'd, and doubtless was receiv'd 
 
144 FOWLING. 
 
 With smiles of heartfelt joy — and by his fire 
 Lord of his little hut, gladly partook 
 Of the plain frugal meal. Perchance they talk'd 
 Of future happy days, (Hope visits oft 130 
 
 The peasant's lot, and cheers with heavenly ray 
 The dark abode), then to their humble couch, 
 Where in the balm of youthful innocence 
 Slumber'd their little son, they gladly hied, 
 And sought to lose the labours of the day 135 
 In willing sleep. They slept the sleep of death ! 
 For in the night, or by th' incumbent snow 
 Depress'd, or the sole hand of time, the roof 
 Fell prone, and with it dragg'd the crumbling walls. 
 The sun arose, and o'er the glist'ning snows 140 
 His rosy colour shed. A fowler took 
 By the lone cot his early way. Aghast 
 
FOWLING. 145 
 
 He view'd the ruin, and with eager speed 
 Sought the next hamlet. All too late, alas ! 
 Assistance came. To the cold breath of morn 
 Expos'd, the lifeless tenants sadly lay, 146 
 
 Still pale and cold as the surrounding snows. 
 
 The snow has ceas'd to fall : the gloomy clouds, 
 Retiring like disbanded troops, disperse 
 In all directions, and leave Heaven's wide plain 150 
 Free, for the glitt'ring stars their num'rous bands 
 Irregular to muster. Frost his rage 
 Abates not ; but with persevering spleen 
 Stiffens the new-falFn snow. The village pours 
 From ev'ry chimney volumes of thick smoke, 155 
 From the dry faggot or the close par'd turf 
 Arising, of more pure and wholesome scent 
 
 K 
 
146 FOWLING. 
 
 Than the rank coal sulphureous. Happy they, 
 Whose scanty cottage holds within its walls 
 The ready fuel pil'd ; they need not brave 160 
 The season's fury, from the furzy brake, 
 Or frozen wood, with hands benumb 'd, to pick, 
 And shiv'ring limbs ill guarded from the cold, 
 The casual branch strewed by the wintry wind. 
 For see yon motley crew advancing slow, 165 
 Beneath their burdens on the slipp'ry road ; 
 Nor male nor female their uncouth attire, 
 But ill compos'd of each, — female their sex. 
 Various their ages — by the stooping side 
 Of feeble matron, walks with vig'rous step, 170 
 In the full bloom of youth, the buxom maid ; 
 The quilted petticoat, once glossy bright, 
 Rusty and soil'd, and streaming to the wind, 
 
FOWLING. 147 
 
 Denotes them best ; for on their shoulders hangs 
 The faded coat, with gorgeous buttons once 175 
 Thick studded ; now but one remains alone, 
 To guard it from desertion. The flapp'd hat, 
 Rejected by the lordly husband, rent 
 Disastrously ; nor can we spare to sigh 
 At the dishonour'd scarlet, faint and wan, 180 
 And stript of all appendages ; though once 
 With innate pride of British valour, worn 
 On the thick tented plain, nor e'er design'd 
 For such ignoble use. Laborious band ! 
 Full hardly have you earn'd the scanty means 185 
 Of a short hour of needful ease and warmth. 
 But lives there, righteous Heav'n, th' unpitying 
 
 man, 
 Who, blest with all that Fortune can bestow, 
 
148 FOWLING. 
 
 Forbids the shiv'ring villager to take 
 The useless refuse ? — locks his guarded gates 190 
 Without remorse ; and should an hapless foot 
 Upon his parks intrude, enrag'd, lets loose 
 His upstart menials on the trembling wretch ? 
 Ah ! can the sparkling glass be sweet to him ? 
 Can his proud fires impart a pleasing warmth ? 
 Or can he, on his downy pillow, place 196 
 
 His weary head, expecting calm repose ? 
 Repose, the wisest and the sweetest gift 
 That lib'ral Nature grants, rend'ring more fair 
 The fairest morn. Come, gentle pow'r, bind 
 
 up 200 
 
 My busy wand'ring thoughts in welcome chains ! 
 
 The shadowy Night has nearly run her course 
 
FOWLING. 149 
 
 Over the silent world — the cock repeats 
 His warning note. Behoves us to prepare 
 For our expected sport. Now, when the stars 205 
 Slowly decrease, and the faint glimm'ring light 
 First trembles in the east, we hasten forth, 
 To seek the rushing river's wand'ring wave, 
 The doubtful gloom shall favour our approach, 
 And should we through th' o'erhanging bushes, 
 view 210 
 
 The dim-discover'd flock, the well-aim'd shot 
 Shall have insur'd success, nor leave the day 
 To be consumed in vain. For shy the game, 
 Nor easy of access : the fowler's toils 
 Precarious ; but inur'd to ev'ry chance 215 
 
 We urge those toils with glee. E'en the broad sun, 
 In his meridian brightness, shall not check 
 
150 FOWLING. 
 
 Our steady labour ; for some rushy pool, 
 Some hollow willowy bank, the skulking birds 
 May then conceal, which our staunch dogs shall 
 pierce, 220 
 
 And drive them clam'ring forth. Those tow'ring 
 
 rocks, 
 With nodding wood o'erhung, that faintly break 
 Upon the straining eye, descending deep, 
 A hollow basin form, the which receives 
 The foaming torrent from above. Around 225 
 Thick alders grow. We steal upon the spot 
 With cautious step, and peering out, survey 
 The restless flood. No object meets our eye. 
 But hark ! what sound is that approaching near ? 
 " Down close" — The wild-ducks come, and dart- 
 ing down, 230 
 
FOWLING. 151 
 
 Throw up on ev'ry side the troubled wave : 
 Then gaily swim around with idle play. 
 With breath restrain'd, and palpitating heart, 
 I view their movements, whilst my well-taught 
 
 dogs, 
 Like lifeless statues crouch. Now is the time. 235 
 Closer they join ; nor will the growing light 
 Admit of more delay — With fiery burst, 
 The unexpected death invades the flock ; 
 Tumbling they he, and beat the flashing pool, 
 Whilst those remoter from the fatal range 240 
 Of the swift shot, mount up on vig'rous wing, 
 And wake the sleeping echoes as they fly. 
 Quick on the floating spoil my spaniels rush, 
 And drag them to the shore. Where now is 
 
 Doubt, 
 
152 FOWLING. 
 
 Or Disappointment ? For the day we bid 24$ 
 Defiance to their pow'r, and yield our soul 
 To all the fulness of successful sport. 
 Now forward shall we press with hasty step ; 
 The sounding gun has, doubtless, driven far off 
 Each neighb'ring wing. But many a winding vale 
 May yet be travers'd, ere the sun shall sink 251 
 Beneath the western hills. The growing light 
 Opens the wint'ry scene, and soon the sun 
 With cheerful beam shall meet us. Now the 
 
 heav'ns 
 Foretell his near approach, and now he drives 
 His ruby car along the eastern sky. 256 
 
 What pen or pencil shall presume to draw 
 The glowing scene — the rosy hue that paints 
 The glist'ning snow, the fiery gleams that flash 
 
FOWLING. 153 
 
 From crystal icicles, the rocks which deck, 260 
 Or hoary willow's roots, and with a flood 
 Of brightest splendour light the river up. 
 
 Now wand'ring by the river's winding side 
 Its mazy course we trace, explore each creek, 
 Islet or shelter'd cove, the wild-fowls' haunt. 265 
 Thus as we widely range, a cheerful sight 
 Delays our steps awhile, A joyous train 
 Glide o'er the shining plain on polish'd skaits. 
 Now like the race-horse darting to the goal 
 They urge their furious course — then stop mid- 
 way 270 
 And lightly wheel in mazy circles round. 
 Loud are their voices in the frosty air 
 Sounding afar; — but other scenes invite 
 
154 FOWLING. 
 
 Our ling'ring steps, nor longer pause allow. 
 Oft crossing on the solid ice we change 275 
 
 Our shifting course, whilst various Sport repays- 
 Our toils. The coot escapes not, nor the shy 
 And cunning rail ; nor fail we to surprise 
 The teal and widgeon oft. Some prey rewards 
 Our progress, 'till once more the sun inflames 
 With redd'ning beams the scene ; then o'er the 
 hills, 281 
 
 With heart elate and lightsome step, pursue 
 Our nearest homeward path. Let the loud winds 
 Whistle without, the clatt'ring hail descend, 
 Or snowy tempest drive, and, ere the morn, 285 
 Cover the sloping thatch ; the fowler loves 
 The sound, enjoys his blazing hearth the more, 
 And ease well purchas'd by the daily toil. 
 
FOWLING. 155 
 
 Nor idly pass the ling'ring hours of eve. 
 Music and books, due interchange, beguile 290 
 The fleeting time, if not more blest his lot, 
 With sweet domestic joys refin'd and pure. 
 The faithful partner, and the youthful throng, 
 Blooming with rosy health, whose loud surprise 
 Calls forth a smile, as, crowding round, they 
 
 view 295 
 
 With wond'ring eyes the various spoils outspread. 
 And oft he summons to his social board 
 His brother sportsmen, and devotes the hours 
 To harmless Mirth, and chasten'd Jollity ; 
 Whilst each, in turn, runs o'er the rapid tale 300 
 Of many a sportive day — his hopes, his fears, 
 His troubles, or his joys : and, joining, oft 
 They plan some enterprize of greater weight, 
 
156 FOWLING. 
 
 Some scene of distant sport, — protracted march, 
 And unremitting toil, remote from home. 305 
 Thus merrily, with tale or song, they chace 
 The hours of night, unconscious of their flight. 
 
 O dear delights, O joys for ever new ! 
 What can express your worth ? The miser views 
 His hoarded gold, nor dares to taste its use. 310 
 Ambition's vot'ry climbs the toilsome path 
 To win the giddy height, but wins it not ; 
 Or won, unsafe he stands, and swiftly hurl'd, 
 By fickle Fortune's quick revolving wheel, 
 Into the former depth. Grov'lling and gross, 315 
 The sensualist perverts the choicest gifts 
 That Nature yields him ; sottishly destroys 
 The pow'rs of life, and cuts existence short. 
 
FOWLING. 157 
 
 And, mid the mighty multitude, how few 
 The joys of reason and of sense unite ! 320 
 
 Whilst narrow Bigotry, and cynic Pride 
 Enslave the fetter'd mind. Spleen sours the heart, 
 And opes a path for Envy, baleful hag. 
 Then oft more happy they, whose friendly fate, 
 Beyond the human whirlpool's vortex dire, 325 
 Has set them safely down ; and happier still 
 Who love the sylvan sport, that cheers the mind 
 With sweet diversion, and with bounteous health 
 Endues the sprightly frame. And e'en those ills, 
 By sov'reign wisdom far above the ken 330 
 
 Of scanty human knowledge, doom'd to be 
 Th' inevitalbe lot of mortal man, 
 It mitigates and soothes ; whilst lighter cares 
 Before its influence, like the driving mists, 
 
15S FOWLING. 
 
 Disperse and vanish. Ever blest the Fate, 335 
 
 That gave me in the rural scene to draw 
 
 My infant breath — that led my childish feet 
 
 O'er hill and valley, by the glassy stream, 
 
 Or through the wild wood's shade: to brave the 
 
 heat 
 Of scorching Summer, and to dare the rage 34-0 
 Of Winter loud and fierce ; o'er drifted snows 
 Fearless to rove, and tempt the sounding ice ! 
 Whence, smitten with the love of ev'ry sport 
 The varied country yields, my youthful heart 344? 
 Receiv'd impressions, which the hand of Time 
 Shall ne'er efface. Chief when the sounding gun 
 Stopp'd in his mid career the wheeling bird, 
 And brought it to the earth ; resemblance meet 
 Of the sulphureous flash that fires the heav'ns. 
 
FOWLING. 159 
 
 Amid the rural scene still be it mine 350 
 
 To pass my peaceful days. No pop'lous town, 
 Noisy and gay, of lofty buildings proud, 
 With sculpture grac'd, possesses charms for me. 
 More grateful to my eye the mountain rock, 354) 
 Worn by the hand of Time, that frowning bends 
 O'er the low grassy vale, the sweeping wood, 
 And river winding swift its murmuring way. 
 Nor the fantastic luxuries of life 
 My sober wishes move. No tinsell'd robe 
 Excites my envy — far more dear to me, 360 
 
 The homely russet garb, in which through woods 
 Of kindred hue my joyous sport I urge. 
 And can the- costly perfumes, which the light 
 And fickle voice of Fashion loads with praise, 
 Vie with the breath of morn, o'er thymy hills 365 
 
160 FOWLING. 
 
 And flow'ry meadows wafted ? What bright gem 
 Can match the blazing sun, from which it draws 
 Its imitative ray ? And who, that feels 
 Nature's invigorating pow'r, regrets 
 The sumptuous banquet, which rewards the guests 
 With many a dire distemper, oft with death ? 371 
 But, height of human vanity ! to prize 
 The sculptur'd monument, in fretted aisle, 
 With ostentatious grandeur rais'd aloft, 
 Exalting the vain perishable dust 375 
 
 E'en at the soul's expence! When Heav'n 
 
 requires 
 The spirit which it gave, a verdant turf, 
 Beside some low and simple village spire, 
 Haply in woody vale with mountains girt, 
 The scene of harmless joys, my relics shroud. 
 
FOWLING. 161 
 
 The early sportsman oft may view the spot, 381 
 
 And kindly breathe the charitable wish ; 
 
 The sun at least may smile, the dews of Heav'n 
 
 Softly descend ; and Nature' gentle voice 
 
 Oft whisper sweetly o'er the grassy mound. 385 
 
 Nature ! admir'd and lov'd ! with thee began 
 
 The sportive strain, with thee the strain shall end. 
 
 Is there who, dead to feeling, never heard 
 
 Thy sweet inviting voice, that gently calls 
 
 To pleasures ever new — for whom thine hand 390 
 
 Has deck'd the seasons, the green budding Spring, 
 
 The glowing Summer, Autumn rich in fruits, 
 
 And Winter clad in ermine robe, in vain ? 
 
 Can the sweet breath of flowers, the song of birds, 
 
 The waving forest and the murm'ring stream, 395 
 z. 
 
162 FOWLING. 
 
 Inspire no soft delight ? The tow'ring rock, 
 
 Or foaming torrent, or the dazzling sight 
 
 Of wint'ry splendour, raise no sacred awe ? 
 
 Unhappy is his fate, though Fortune shower, 
 
 Her envied favours thick upon his head ! 400 
 
 O great and beautiful in all thy works, 
 
 In ev'ry season and in ev'ry scene, ! 
 
 May the life-blood, that circles round my heart, 
 
 Forget to flow when I forget thy praise, 
 
 Or fail to seek thee with industrious foot 405 
 
 In all thy varied walks ; whilst Sport shall throw 
 
 O'er all thy charms a lovelier brighter grace. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed l>y G< o. Ramsay & Co. 
 Edmbuigii, 1812. 
 

 
 
 
 
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