 | The Titans |  |
23
Or sleuth men fóllow, in valley, in wold and brake;
Whereon they light, of other beast of chace.
Or founden slough, where newly wallowed hath
Some bristled boar: come nigh his covert lair,
In forest side; lie grimly under briar,
With lamping eyes, a great túsked swine they see.
Who boldest then hím unhárbour; they him gore:
That their hounds gores and throweth. And him they slay;
That rusheth felly, upon their flint-head spears.
Whereon they light, of other beast of chace.
Or founden slough, where newly wallowed hath
Some bristled boar: come nigh his covert lair,
In forest side; lie grimly under briar,
With lamping eyes, a great túsked swine they see.
Who boldest then hím unhárbour; they him gore:
That their hounds gores and throweth. And him they slay;
That rusheth felly, upon their flint-head spears.
Each hunte now follows his familiar hound;
Ere wolf-whelp, that had taken his hand and tamed.
Serves the beasts grovelling sense; that drinketh up
The reek in wind, where any prey hath passed;
His masters need.
Ere wolf-whelp, that had taken his hand and tamed.
Serves the beasts grovelling sense; that drinketh up
The reek in wind, where any prey hath passed;
His masters need.
An hollow roving reed,
Was Mans first arrow. A child, opinion is;
Mongst his fond pastimes at the Winter-hearth,
The bow first found; and even to fledge his shaft.
Was Mans first arrow. A child, opinion is;
Mongst his fond pastimes at the Winter-hearth,
The bow first found; and even to fledge his shaft.
Mans bow-stave, a well-chosen ashen bough;
Or elm, or else, (to be of pith,) of yew;
To measure of Mans height, is featly wrought.
When he would shoot, he it spans, with steady pulse,
Before his breast: casting up tufted grass,
He marks how stands the wind. He, his quarry seen,
The spended nerve draws úp to his páps, with force:
And loost, his well nockt shaft flees wingéd forth.
Or elm, or else, (to be of pith,) of yew;
To measure of Mans height, is featly wrought.
When he would shoot, he it spans, with steady pulse,
Before his breast: casting up tufted grass,
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The spended nerve draws úp to his páps, with force:
And loost, his well nockt shaft flees wingéd forth.
Man wont then bear in hand a polished spear,
At home; or else two well-poised nimble javelins;
Headed with flint, or hardened with flames' breath:
(Lies all without yet salvage wilderness!)
And some years happeth, when snow, in Winter waste,
Is drifted deep; his door-sill is beset,
Of wolves, that howl down from bleak frozen hills.
At home; or else two well-poised nimble javelins;
Headed with flint, or hardened with flames' breath:
(Lies all without yet salvage wilderness!)
And some years happeth, when snow, in Winter waste,
Is drifted deep; his door-sill is beset,
Of wolves, that howl down from bleak frozen hills.
| The Titans | |