Classic Poem

A huntsman chased, from break of morn,
A roe o'er meadows wide,
When lo! behind a garden-thorn
A blushing maid he spied.

What is it checks the gallant horse?
Say, can its foot be sore?
What is it stays the huntsman's course,
That now he shouts no more?

The timid roe, by none pursued,
O'er hill and dale doth flee;
Stay, foolish roe! the huntsman good
Hath long forgotten thee !