The Poetry of Hunting 149 



Of Her the ancients fabled rides a-nights 

 Betwixt the setting and the rising lights. 



Now following up a mighty hart and swift 



The king rode long upon that morning tide, 



And since his horse was worth a kingdom's gift, 



It chanced him all his servants to outride, 



Until unto a shaded river-side 



He came alone at hottest of the sun. 



When all the freshness of the day was done. 



Dismounting there, and seeing so far a-down 



The red-finned fishes o'er the gravel play, 



It seemed that moment worth his royal crown 



To hide there from the burning of the day. 



Wherefore he did dofF his rich array. 



And tied his horse unto a neighboring tree. 



And in the water sported leisurely. 



William Morris, 



The Wind's in the South <::> .<£> 



THE wind's in the south, and the first faint 

 blushes 

 Of morn amid clouds dispers'd, 

 As a stream in its strength through a floodgate 

 rushes. 

 The hounds from their kennel burst. 



The huntsman is up on his favourite bay. 



The whips are all astride, 

 Leisurely trotting their onward way 



To the distant cover side. 



Sweetly the blackbird, and sweetly the thrush, 



Greeting them, seem to say, 

 In the chorus that rings from each hawthorn bush, 



" Good sport to the pack to-day." 



