Next morning, ere the sun with sickly ray
O'er doubtful shades maintains the dawning day,
The sprightly horn proclaims some danger near,
And hounds, harmonious to the sportsman's ear,
With deep-mouth'd notes rouse up the trembling deer.
Startled he leaps aside, and list'ning round,
This way and that explores the hostile sound,
Arm'd for that fight, which he declines with shame,
Too fond of life, too negligent of fame;
For Nature, to display her various art,
Had fortify'd his head, but not his heart:
Those spears, which useless on his front appear'd,
On any else had been ador'd and fear'd.
But honours disproportion'd are a load,
Grandeur a specious curse, when ill bestow'd.