The dying shrieks; and the pale threatening ghost
470
  Moves as he moves, and as he flies pursues. 
  See here his slot; up yon green hill he climbs,
  Pants on its brow a while, sadly looks back
  On his pursuers, covering all the plain;
  But wrung with anguish, bears not long the sight,
  Shoots down the steep, and sweats along the vale: 
  There mingles with the herd, where once he reigned
  Proud monarch of the groves, whose clashing beam

  His rivals awed, and whose exalted power
  Was still rewarded with successful love.
480
  But the base herd have learned the ways of men,
  Averse they fly, or with rebellious aim
  Chase him from thence:  needless their impious deed,
  The huntsman knows him by a thousand marks,
  Black, and embossed; nor are his hounds deceived;
  Too well distinguish these, and never leave
  Their once devoted foe; familiar grows
  His scent, and strong their appetite to kill. 
  Again he flies, and with redoubled speed
  Skims o’er the lawn; still the tenacious crew
490
  Hang on the track, aloud demand their prey,
  And push him many a league.  If haply then
  Too far escaped, and the gay courtly train
  Behind are cast, the huntsman’s clanging whip
  Stops full their bold career; passive they stand,
  Unmoved, an humble, an obsequious crowd,
  As if by stern Medusa gazed to stones. 
  So at their general’s voice whole armies halt
  In full pursuit, and check their thirst of blood. 
  Soon at the king’s command, like hasty streams
500
  Dammed up a while, they foam, and pour along
  With fresh-recruited might.  The stag, who hoped
  His foes were lost, now once more hears astunned
  The dreadful din; he shivers every limb,
  He starts, he bounds; each bush presents a foe. 
  Pressed by the fresh relay, no pause allowed,
  Breathless, and faint, he falters in his pace,
  And lifts his weary limbs with pain, that scarce
  Sustain their load! he pants, he sobs appalled;
  Drops down his heavy head to earth, beneath
510
  His cumbrous beams oppressed.  But if perchance
  Some prying eye surprise him; soon he rears
  Erect his towering front, bounds o’er the lawn
  With ill-dissembled vigour, to amuse
  The knowing forester; who inly smiles

  At his weak shifts, and unavailing frauds. 
  So midnight tapers waste their last remains,
  Shine forth a while, and as they blaze expire. 
  From wood to wood redoubling thunders roll,
  And bellow through the vales; the moving storm
520
  Thickens amain, and loud triumphant shouts,
  And horns shrill-warbling in each glade, prelude
  To his approaching fate.  And now in view
  With hobbling gait, and high, exerts amazed
  What strength is left:  to the last dregs of life
  Reduced, his spirits fail, on every side