16 
She would have shrieked for their mercy: but shame 
made her dumb ; and their eyeballs 
Stared on her careless and still, like the eyes in the 
house of the idols. 
Seeing they saw not, and passed, like a dream, on the 
murmuring ripple. 
One life, but two aspects of union and disunion; a 
music of nature and humanity which owes much of its 
interest to a discord ; and yet the metaphor is faulty, for 
this discord never resolves itself. Here is a paradox which 
goes far beyond the narrow question of sport. It is what 
S. Paul recognised: ‘‘ For the creation was subjected to 
vanity, not of its own will, but by reason of him who 
subjected it, in hope ; because the creation itself also shall 
be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the liberty 
of the glory of the children of God.’’ (Rom. viii., 20 f. 
RV. mare.) 
Kingsley’s sport has carried us into deep waters. Let 
us, before leaving the subject, take it in a simpler fashion, 
and notice some fine poems which his love for sport has 
produced. There is ‘‘ The Find,’’ for instance, with its 
spirited opening ; 
Yon sound’s neither sheep-bell nor bark, 
They’re running—they’re running, Go hark! 
And there is ‘‘ The Delectable Day: ”’ 
Ah, God! a poor soul can but thank Thee 
For such a delectable day, 
in which the poet and his other children walk to the meet 
and see ‘‘ the boy ”’ off ‘‘ on the famous gray pony,’’ and 
** wander to windward ’’ in the afternoon, 
To meet the dear boy coming back ; 
And to catch, down the turns of the valley, 
The last weary chime of the pack. 
And then the evening at home—but that verse has one 
flat phrase in it which spoils the perfection of the whole. 
Let us therefore choose, to quote in full, another hunting 
piece in which Kingsley’s larger aspirations mingle with the 
glamour of the field: 
Forward! Hark forward’s the cry! 
One more fence and we’re out on the open, 
So to us at once, if you want to live near us! 
Hark to them, ride to them, beauties! as on they go, 
Leaping and sweeping away in the vale below! 
Cowards and bunglers, whose heart or whose eye is slow, 
Find themselves staring alone. 
