And when the Brigg of Turk was won,1

The headmost horseman rode alone.

VII.

Alone, but with unbated zeal,

That horseman plied the scourge and steel;
For jaded now, and spent with toil,
Emboss'd with foam, and dark with soil,
While every gasp with sobs he drew,
The laboring stag strain'd full in view.
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,
Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed,2

1 "About a mile above Loch Vennachar, the approach (from the east), to the Brigg or Bridge of Turk (the scene of the death of a wild-boar, famous in Celtic tradition), leads to the summit of an eminence, where there bursts upon the traveller's eye a sudden and wide prospect of the windings of the river that issues from Loch Achray, with that sweet lake itself in front; the gently rolling river pursues its serpentine course through an extensive meadow; at the west end of the lake on the side of Aberfoyle is situated the delightful farm of Achray, the level field, a denomination justly due to it, when considered in contrast with the rugged rocks and mountains which surround it. From this eminence are to be seen also, on the right hand, the entrance to Glenfinlas, and in the distance Benvenue."— GRAHAM.

2" The hounds which we call Saint Hubert's hounds are commonly all blacke, yet, neuertheless, the race is so mingled at these days, that we find them of all colours. These are the hounds which the abbots of St. Hubert haue always kept some of their race or kind in honour or remembrance of the saint, which was a hunter with S. Eustace. Whereupon we may conceiue that (by the grace of God) all good huntsmen shall follow them into paradise. To return vnto my former

Fast on his flying traces came,

And all but won that desperate game;
For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch
Vindictive toil'd the bloodhounds stanch;

Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
Nor farther might the quarry strain,

Thus up the margin of the lake,
Between the precipice and brake,

O'er stock and rock their race they take.

VIII.

The Hunter mark'd that mountain high,
The lone lake's western boundary,

And deem'd the stag must turn to bay,
Where that huge rampart barr'd the way;

purpose, this kind of dogges hath bene dispersed through the counties of Henault, Loryne, Flanders, and Burgoyne. They are mighty of body, neuertheless their legges are low and short, likewise they are not swift, although they be very good of sent, hunting chaces which are farre straggled, fearing neither water nor cold, and doe more couet the chaces that smell, as foxes, bore, and such like, than other, because they find themselves neither of swiftness nor courage to hunt and kill the chaces that are lighter and swifter. The bloodhounds of this colour proue good, especially those that are cole blacke, but I made no great account to breed on them, or to keepe the kind, and yet I found a book which a hunter did dedicate to a prince of Lorayne, which seemed to loue hunting much, wherein was a blason which the same hunter gaue to his bloodhound, called Souyllard, which was white :

"My name came first from holy Hubert's race,
Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace."

Whereupon we may presume that some of the kind proue white sometimes, but they are not of the kind of the Greffiers

Already glorying in the prize,

Measured his antlers with his eyes;

For the death-wound and death-halloo,
Muster'd his breath, and whinyard drew;1-

The noble art of

or Bouxes, which we haue at these days."Venerie or Hunting, translated and collected for the Use of all Noblemen and Gentlemen. Lond. 1611, 4to, p. 15.

1 When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter had the perilous task of going in upon and killing or disabling the desperate animal. At certain times of the year this was held particularly dangerous, a wound received from a stag's horn being then deemed poisonous, and more dangerous than one from the tusk of a boar, as the old rhyme testifies:

"If thou be hurt with hart, it brings thee to thy bier,

But barber's hand will boar's hurt heal, therefore thou need'st not fear."

At all times, however, the task was dangerous, and to be adventured upon wisely and warily, either by getting behind the stag while he was gazing on the hounds, or by watching an opportunity to gallop roundly in upon him, and kill him with the sword. See many directions to this purpose in the Booke of Hunting, chap. 41. Wilson, the historian, has recorded a most providential escape which befell him in this hazardous sport, while a youth and follower of the Earl of Essex.

Sir Peter Lee, of Lime, in Cheshire, invited my lord one summer to hunt the stagg. And having a great stagg in chace, and many gentlemen in the pursuit, the stagg took soyle. And divers, whereof I was one, alighted, and stood with swords drawne, to have a cut at him at his coming out of the water. The staggs there being wonderfully fierce and dangerous, made us youths more eager to be at him. But he escaped us all. And it was my misfortune to be hindered of my coming nere him, the way being sliperie, by a falle; which gave occasion to some, who did not know mee, to speak as if I had fallne for feare.

Which being told mee, I left the

But thundering as he came prepared,
With ready arm and weapon bared,
The wily quarry shunn'd the shock,
And turn'd him from the opposing rock;
Then, dashing down a darksome glen,
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,
In the deep Trosachs'1 wildest nook
His solitary refuge took.

There, while close couch'd, the thicket shed

Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head,

He heard the baffled dogs in vain
Rave through the hollow pass amain,
Chiding the rocks that yell'd again.

IX.

Close on the hounds the Hunter came,
To cheer them on the vanished game;

stagg, and followed the gentleman who [first] spake it. But I found him of that cold temper, that it seems his words made an escape from him; as by his denial and repentance it appeared. But this made mee more violent in the pursuit of the stagg, to recover my reputation. And happened to be the only horseman in, when the dogs sett him up at bay; and approaching near him on horsebacke, he broke through the dogs, and run at mee, and tore my horse's side with his hornes close by my thigh. Then I quitted my horse, and grew more cunning (for the dogs had sette him up again), stealing behind him with my sword, and cut his hamstrings; and then got upon his back and cut his throate: which, as I was doing, the company came in, and blamed my rashness for running such a hazard." — PECK'S Disiderata Curiosa, ii. 464. 1"The term Trosachs signifies the rough or bristled territory."-GRAHAM.

But stumbling in the rugged dell,
The gallant horse exhausted fell.
The impatient rider strove in vain
To rouse him with the spur and rein,
For the good steed, his labors o'er,
Stretch'd his stiff limbs, to rise no more;
Then, touch'd with pity and remorse,
He sorrow'd o'er the expiring horse.
"I little thought, when first thy rein
I slack'd upon the banks of Seine,
That Highland eagle e'er should feed
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed!
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day,
That costs thy life, my gallant gray!"

X.

Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds. Back limp'd, with slow and crippled pace, The sulky leaders of the chase; Close to their master's side they press'd, With drooping tail, and humbled crest; But still the dingle's hollow throat Prolong'd the swelling bugle-note. The owlets started from their dream, The eagles answer'd with their scream, Round and around the sounds were cast, Till echo seem'd an answering blast; And on the Hunter hied his way,1 To join some comrades of the day; MS.: "And on the hunter hied his pace,

To meet some comrades of the chase."