150 The Chase 



Lads from the village now after them race, 



Asking with eager shout, 

 And ruddy with joy at the thoughts of a chace, 



" Where do the hounds turn out ? " 



Now masking the slope with its dusky screen, 



A wood in front appears, 

 And a Hall high-gabled, the glittering sheen 



Of its vane-deck'd turrets rears. 



The chimney-shafts, wreathed with smoke, betoken 



Full many a guest within, 

 While words of welcome in honesty spoken 



The heart of each stranger win. 



A white hand unlatches her casement bar ; 



A murmur of joy resounds : 

 They're coming ! they're coming ! see, yonder 

 they are ! 



They're coming ! the hounds ! the hounds ! 



Hark ! from the cover a fox halloo'd ; 



The hounds to the open fly ; 

 Horses and men, as they crash through the wood, 



Made mad by the merry cry. 



Fainter and fainter in distance died 



The tumult of the chace ; 

 Till silent as death was the green hill-side. 



The Hall a deserted place. 



I follow them not ; the good fox they found 



Sped many a mile away ; 

 That run was the talk of the country round 



For many an after day. 



R. E. E ger ton-TV arhur ton. 



