166
ALBANIA;
Fleet grayhounds that outrun the fearful hare;
And many a dog beside, of faithful scent,
To snuff the prey, on eager heel, to scour
The purple heath, and snap the flying game. 210
Here no tarantula exerts its charm;
No serpent in the farthest desart dwells;
Deep in the heath, here harmless adders skulk,
Wound up in glistering rings; and, poisonless,
The cunning spider clambers up the wall.
The lakes and mountains swarm with copious game;
The wildgoose gray, and heathcock hairy legg'd,
White soland, that on Bass and Ailsa build;
The woodcock slender billed, and marshy snipe,
The free-bred duck, that scorns the wiles of men, 220
Soaring beyond the thunder of the gun;
Yet oft her crafty fellow, trained to guile,
And forging love, decoys her to the snare,
There witnesses her fate, with shameless brow.
Why should I here the fruitful pigeon name,
Or long-necked heron, dread of nimble eels,
The glossy swan, that loaths to look a-down,
Or the close covey vexed with various woes?
While sad, they sit their anxious mother round,
With dismal shade the closing net descends; 230
And many a dog beside, of faithful scent,
To snuff the prey, on eager heel, to scour
The purple heath, and snap the flying game. 210
Here no tarantula exerts its charm;
No serpent in the farthest desart dwells;
Deep in the heath, here harmless adders skulk,
Wound up in glistering rings; and, poisonless,
The cunning spider clambers up the wall.
The lakes and mountains swarm with copious game;
The wildgoose gray, and heathcock hairy legg'd,
White soland, that on Bass and Ailsa build;
The woodcock slender billed, and marshy snipe,
The free-bred duck, that scorns the wiles of men, 220
Soaring beyond the thunder of the gun;
Yet oft her crafty fellow, trained to guile,
And forging love, decoys her to the snare,
There witnesses her fate, with shameless brow.
Why should I here the fruitful pigeon name,
Or long-necked heron, dread of nimble eels,
The glossy swan, that loaths to look a-down,
Or the close covey vexed with various woes?
While sad, they sit their anxious mother round,
With dismal shade the closing net descends; 230
