FINALE

The hind is in this little glen;
'tis not a duffer without skill
could stalk her if he knew not how
to make contact with her quietly;
 to guard against her warily,
 drawing near to her before she stirs,
 cautiously, most toilsomely,
 lest she should sense him near her;
 amid pits, folds and depressions,
 and boulders that concealed him,
 to take notice of the terrain,
 and the way the clouds approach him;
 to keep advancing on the trail,
 as softly as his wit contrived,
 that he might trap her, spite of her,
 by exceptional adroitness;
 with skill, not lacking judgment,
 to fix the eye unflinchingly,
 directing the fell, crafty dame,
 levelled at the antler-bearer.
 Finger joint would be on the trigger
 whereby was bent the hinder spring,
 that would strike out unerringly
 on behalf of him who aimed her;
 the fresh flint, newly tightened,
 strikes the hammer with firm crack on it,
 and the spark fails not in contact with
 the pinch that was a marvel.
 'Tis the crisp, matured gun-powder
 behind the shrivelled tinder,
 would blaze away the hail-like charge
 from the barrel of Dame Coshem.
This is the courier that was keen,
and would not cheat him of his hope,
when it flashed out like lightning
to inflict a wound on someone:
 bleeding from the bullet wounds
 would be the folk of spindle shanks,
 and mouths of driest, pouting lips,
 without puffiness or swelling.
 'Tis the Craig Seileach camping ground
 ranked first among their quarters;
 because of annoyance they will not
 descend to a coast outwith their ken—
 unless they are grievously subdued,
 towards the time of their latter end,
 when the barking pack is hasting
 and yelping in pursuit of them.
 For the hind of Ben Dobhrain
 there is neither chant nor carolling,
 but snarl of dogs ravening for her,
 to drive her head to frenzy.
 O 'twas a joy to good fellows,
 who were no novices at sport,
 with all the virility of youth
 to be around the hill passes,
 where the deer are stirring noisily,
 and men go sleepless after them,
 with a gun that was well warranted
 to fire at the right moment;
 and with a lively, eager whelp,
 whose tail would be a-wagging,
 while he is whimpering joyously,
 and will not refuse to tackle them.
 A strong, bloodthirsty warrior he,
 most ardent and impatient,
 venomous, yapping, nimble-mouthed
 at the work his kind engaged in;
 with the bristles of his hair erect,
 so shaggy-browed, grim, sinister,
 with his gathered jowls wide open,
 he is all a-quiver at their throats.
Erratic was that whirling drive,
and it was headlong always,
what time they would stretch out the hoofs
adown the moorland cross-track.
 The mountains and the hill passes
 would then reverberate to you
 the echoed sound of baying call
 from the hairy hound's rampaging,
 as he rounds them down from the peaks
 to pools in which they cannot wade:
 indeed, they will be wallowing
 amid the surge, and wounded.
 And the whelps, tossing to and fro,
 are holding them by the necks,
 so they can nevermore escape,
 but stay and become lifeless.
 Though I have lightly touched on them,
 ere I detailed what is due to them,
 they would drive me to distraction
 by complexity of discourse.