Product Description
Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: POEMS. SIR BRASIL'S FALCON. The hunt was o'er. The last thin bugle-note Had stole away among the friendly trees, Declining gently on its weary way, And dying in their arms. The exhausted hounds Besmeared with wild-boar's blood lay down, and licked Their sanguine coats; or, growling, strove to scare With lazy paw the floating globes of flies That buzzed around them lured with scent of gore. The horses, bridle-tethered to the trees, With flanks thin drawn, where lay the hardened sweat In glistening furrows, champed the cruel bit, Or nibbled at the leaves. Beneath the shade Of a great chestnut that obscured the sun The hunters, gathered in a little group, Talked of the chase; and pleasant stories ran Of perils, magnified with sportsman's boasts, And huge leaps taken in the heat of chase. Then hearty laughs at some green youth's mishap Went round the circle like a jocund ring Of sparkling merriment. The men were gay In joyance of rude strength. Their eyes were bold; Their white teeth glistened through their nut-brown beards Like foam-beads in dark ale. Their skins were tanned By honest wind and sun, and every limb Was large and fit for use. These men were rough As prickly-pear or pomegranate, but they Were ripe, and honest-fruited at the core. Then in each pause a silver bowl went round, Filled with red wine, and every hunter drank, ' Health to St. Hubert, our good patron saint!' And passed the wine bowl on, until it came To where Sir Brasil sat. And he outspoke, ' You know, my friends, I live not to drink wine, Since that sad day when in the Holy Land The Emir made me quaff my brother's blood Disguised as wine. I cannot join your revel. Pardon me, comrades, I will seek so...
