Classic Poem

FROM THE ADMIRED LATIN MONODY ON THE DEATH OF A HUNTSMAN, ONE EVAN BY NAME .

Y E that Hubert's call attend,
Still the Hunter's guide and friend —
Ye that best the horn can blow,
Which the Saint has left below —
Mute be all its cheerful tones!
Give it breath for sighs and groans!
Tell the winds, and echoing shore,
Evan 's thrown, — he hunts no more

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Here, on level ground or slope,
Swift in pace, and keen with hope,
Evan , with his dog and spear,
Hung upon the panting deer;
Early as the morning's dew
Over hills and copses flew;
Wing'd as air, and whirlwind pass'd,
First abroad, and home the last;
Though meridian sunbeams fir'd,
Never slumbering, never tir'd,
Fresh as morn, though day was fled,
Sunk and lost in Ocean's bed.
We, alas! with him no more
Field and thicket shall explore!
Vain the lark's enlivening song —
Evan's night is very long;
His the calm eternal sleep,
Ours the waking doom — to weep,
Oft as Hubert's horn shall speak,
Puff'd no more by Evan's cheek.

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