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THE CHACE.
Book IV.
Now on firm Land they range; then in the FloodThey plunge tumultuous; or thro' reedy Pools 420Rustling they work their Way: no Holt escapesTheir curious Search. With quick Sensation nowThe fuming Vapour stings; flutter their Hearts,And Joy redoubled bursts from ev'ry Mouth,In louder Symphonies. Yon hollow Trunk, 425That with its hoary Head incurv'd, salutesThe passing Wave; must be the Tyrant's Fort,And dread abode. How these impatient climb,While others at the Root incessant Bay:They put him down. See, there he dives along! 430Th' ascending Bubbles mark his gloomy Way.Quick fix the Nets, and cut off his RetreatInto the shelt'ring Deeps. Ah, there he vents!The Pack plunge headlong, and protended SpearsMenace Destruction. While the troubled Surge 435Indignant foams, and all the scaly Kind

Affrighted,

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