BRITISH SPORT PAST AND PRESENT 



Yonder a steed is rolled up with his master ; 



Here, in a double, another lies cast ; 

 Thicker and faster comes grief and disaster. 



All but the good ones are weeded at last. 

 Hunters so limber, at water and timber, 



Now on the causeway are fain to be led ; 

 Beat, but still going, a countryman sowing 



Has sighted the Lord of the Valley ahead. 



There in the bottom, see, sluggish and idle, 



Steals the dark stream where the willow-tree grows ! 

 Harden vour heart, and catch hold of your bridle ! 



Steady him — rouse him — and over he goes ! 

 Look ! in a minute a dozen are in it ! 



But Forward ! Hark Forward ! for draggled and blown, 

 A check though desiring, with courage untiring 



The Lord of the Valley is holding his own. 



Onward we struggle in sorrow and labour. 



Lurching and lobbing, and 'bellows to mend'; 

 Each, while he smiles at the plight of his neighbour. 



Only is anxious to get to the end. 

 Horses are flagging, hounds drooping and lagging. 



Yet gathering down yonder, where, press as they may. 

 Mobbed, driven, and haunted, but game and undaunted, 



The Lord of the Valley stands proudly at bay ! 



Then here 's to the Baron, ^ and all his supporters — 



The thrusters — the skirters — the whole of the tale ; 

 And here's to the fairest of all hunting quarters. 



The widest of pastures — three cheers for the Yale ; ^ 

 For the lovely she-rider, the rogue, who beside her, 



Finds breath in a gallop his suit to advance ; 

 The hounds, for our pleasure, that time us the measure. 



The Lord of the Valley, that leads us the dance ! 



G. J. Whyte Melvillk, 

 Baily^s Magazine, Feb. 1868. 



' Rothschild. ^ of Aylesbury. 



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