The Poetry of Hunting 143 



Fond Echo seems to like the sport, 



And join the jovial cry ; 

 The woods, the hills, the sound retort. 



And music fills the sky. 



When a-hunting we do go. 



At length his strength to faintness worn, 



Poor Reynard ceases flight ; 

 Then hungry, homeward we return. 



To feast away the night. 



And a-drinking we do go. 



Ye jovial hunters, in the morn 

 Prepare then for the chase ; 

 Rise at the sounding of the horn, 

 And health with sport embrace. 



When a-hunting we do go. 



Henry Fielding. 



The Devoted Three <^ o •o 



UP rose the sun o'er moor and mead ; 

 Up with the sun rose Percy Rede ; 

 Brave Keeldar, from his couples free 



Career'd along the lea : 

 The palfrey sprung with sprightly bound, 

 As if to match the gamesome hound ; 

 His horn the gallant huntsman wound : 

 They were a jovial three ! 



Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame 

 To wake the wild deer never came, 

 Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game 

 On Cheviot's rueful day ; 



