Notable Runs 63 



The fox had reached the Southropp lane, 

 He strove to cross it, but in vain, 

 The pack roll'd o'er him in his stride, 

 And onward struggling still — he died. 



This gallant fox, in Tarwood found. 



Had crossed full twenty miles of ground ; 



Had sought in cover, left or right. 



No shelter to conceal his flight ; 



But nigh two hours the open kept. 



As stout a fox as ever stept ! 



That morning, in the saddle set, 



A hundred men at Tarwood met ; 



The eager steeds which they bestrode 



PacM to and fro the Witney road. 



For hard as iron shoe that trod 



Its surface, the unyielding sod ; 



Till midday sun had thaw'd the ground 



And made it fit for foot of hound, 



They champ'd the bit and twitch'd the rein, 



And paw'd the frozen earth in vain, 



Impatient with fleet hoof to scour 



The vale, each minute seem'd an hour ; 



Still Rumour says of that array 



Scarce ten lived fairly through the day. 



When younger men of lighter weight 



Some tale of future sport relate. 



Let Whippy show the brush he won, 



And tell them of the Tarwood run ; 



While Rival's portrait on the wall. 



Shall oft to memory recall 



The gallant fox, the burning scent. 



The leaps they leapt, the pace they went ; 



