The Hunt in Literature 1 1 



Over a spinney, leading them astray, 

 And scaped the forest, and had won the day 

 But that a beater's hut was stationed there, 

 Wherefrom three fierce ones ran at him all grey. 

 So, to the woods again, poor wretch, in care. 

 With all the woe in life and courage of despair. 

 Then was it very bliss to hear the hounds 

 When all the pack had view of him together — 

 Such outcry for his head, as from their bounds 

 The clambering cliffs had clattered altogether. 

 No gambler on his life would stake a feather — 

 Full loud they holloaed when they came at him 

 And "thief! thief! " cried, and in the greenwood 



tether. 

 Those tattlers at his tail with eyen grim 

 Hem him lest out again he dart from forest dim. 



Kenneth Hare. 



To Sir Robert Wroth o o 



{The Delights of a Country Life) 

 OW blest art thou, canst love the country. 



H 



Wroth, 

 Whether by choice, or fate, or both. 

 And though so near the city, and the Court, 

 Art ta'en with neither's vice nor sport ; 

 Nor throng'st, when masquing is, to have a sight 

 Of the short bravery of the night ; 

 But canst at home, in thy securer rest. 

 Live, with unbought provision blest ; 

 Free from proud porches, or the gilded roofs, 

 'Mongst lowing herds, and solid hoofs. . . . 

 Or if thou list the night in watch to break, 

 A-bed canst hear the loud stag speak. 

 In Spring, oft roused for thy Master's sport. 

 Who for it makes thy house his Court ; 



