The Fox-Chace, XVIII

And now the country bleaker grew, As to the upland grounds they drew; A barren waste, so bleak and drear, Is seen on every side: No objects to the sight appear The eye to glad, or heart to cheer, In all the desert wide. The ocean blue, with clustered isles, The only feature here that smiles; Here glouring o’er the German flood, Bare Barmoor’s baby castle stood, With pallid face of new built woe, Sad contrast to the moor below. The owner saw the hounds run by, And, from a tower, joined in the cry; Wondered he much who it could be That led the joyous revelry: To right, or left, the leading hound, The Goblin Groom was always found. “Oh!” cried the squire of Barmoor bare, “Oh! like yon Elf, that I were there!” Amazement seized his soul to find The others were a mile behind.