Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/435

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FAREWELL! FORGET ME NOT.
417
The stag now roused, right onward speeds,
O'er hill and dale, the moor and meads,
          He's fain to stray.
His flight the shouting peasants view,
His steps the dashing hounds pursue,
          Far away.
All day untired his route we trace,
Exulting in the joyous chase
          Of such a day.
At length at mild eve's twilight gleam,
He's taken in the valley stream,
          Far away.

The Chase Is O'er, the Hart Is Slain.
The chase is o'er, the hart is slain,
The stateliest hart that graced the plain;
With breath of bugles wind his knell,
Then lay him low in death's drear dell!

Nor beauteous form, nor dappled hide!
Nor branching horns can long abide;
Nor fleetest foot that scuds the heath;
Escapes the fleeter huntsman—Death.

The hart is slain; his faithful deer,
In spite of hounds or huntsman near,
Despising Death and all his train,
Laments her hart, untimely slain!

The chase is o'er, the hart is slain,
The gentlest hart that graced the plain;
Blow soft your bugles,—wind his knell,
Then lay him low in Death's drear dell.

Farewell! Forget Me Not.
I see the white sails of thy ship,
 The blue depths of the sea;
I hear the wind sweep o'er the wave
 That bears thee, love, from me.

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