Joy sparkled in the prancing Courser's eyes; A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall, Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind, The Knight hallooed, he chid and cheered them on With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern; But breath and eye-sight fail; and, one by one, The Dogs are stretched among the mountain fern. Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? The poor Hart toils along the mountain side; Dismounting then, he leaned against a thorn; Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned, Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched: And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched And now, too happy for repose or rest, (Was never man in such a joyful case!) Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west, And gazed and gazed upon that darling place. And climbing up the hill-(it was at least Nine roods of sheer ascent) Sir Walter found Three several hoof-marks which the hunted Beast Had left imprinted on the verdant ground. Sir Walter wiped his face and cried, "Till now Such sight was never seen by living eyes: Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow, Down to the very fountain where he lies. I'll build a Pleasure-house upon this spot, And a small Arbour, made for rural joy ; "Twill be the Traveller's shed, the Pilgrim's cot, A place of love for Damsels that are coy. A cunning Artist will I have to frame A bason for that Fountain in the dell; And they who do make mention of the same From this day forth, shall call it HART-LEAP WELL. And, gallant brute! to make thy praises known, And in the summer-time when days are long, And with the Dancers, and the Minstrel's song, We will make merry in that pleasant Bower. Till the foundations of the mountains fail Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead, With breathless nostrils stretched above the spring. And soon the Knight performed what he had said, The fame whereof through many a land did ring.. Ere thrice the moon into her port had steered, And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall |