1S76] MR. LUPTONS POEM. 351 



Let the Heythrop men boast of their gallop so good, 

 When they killed, near to Fairford, their fox from Tarwood ; 

 But we Warwickshire men to ourselves fairly prove 

 That no run much surpassed ours from Eatington Grove. 

 'Twas an afternoon fox, and sad — sad to relate 

 Of the morning's fell work, and the pack's dreadful fate. 

 * * * s « * 



But away with such memories, shameful and sad, 



Away to the covert that made us so glad ; 



And away with the fox, which so quickly we drove 



From his snug, cosy kennel in Eatington Grove. 



How gallant the field, which in pomp and in pride. 



Followed Orvis's lead through the quiet woodside. 



How scattered that field, ere yet evening's shades fell, 



If you've patience to read, I'll endeavour to tell. 



Scarce had Orvis's cheer sounded twice through the wood. 



When a whimper was heard, which was quickly made good 



By the whole of the pack, and the sweet chorus grew, 



As quick to their leader the gallant hounds flew. 



He's away ! Tally-ho ! and as straight as a holt, 



Never doubting, he points straight for Kineton's good Holt_ 



'Tis a seven-mile point, yet away with stout heart, 



Pug points for the cover as straight as a dart. 



Past Eatington Village, by Pillerton's side. 



The gallant hounds stream, and the eager steeds stride; 



With Orvis close to them. Sir Charles on his grey, 



By steam-plough or fences will not be said nay. 



'Tis a pleasure, I vow, when the ground's steep and strong,. 



To see that good five-year-old bear him along. 



Spencc; Lucy, the master, too, goes like the wind. 



And in deep ground, or sound ground, is not far behind. 



Lord Willoughby, too, as one safely may swear, 



When hounds run their keenest is sure to be there ; 



And her ladyship with him, not far in his rear, 



While George Smith, of Ailston, still keeps p)retty near; 



John Mordaunt goes happily sailing along. 



Be the ground ne'er so deep, or the fences so strong ; 



While on good " Charlie Foster," not far from the pack, 



Shirley galloping on, on no fence shows his back. 



But the cover is reached, and a slight pause ensues, 



While a number discover the loss of their shoes. 



But away once again, and believe me, my friend, 



Not a nag once stood still from the find to the end. 



In the Holt, as they cautiously picked the line through. 



Horses came to a walk, all the respite they knew ; 



And though "just cast a shoe " excused nags that were done. 



