HUNTING SONGS 



Now Cokethorpe on his left he past, 

 Now Ducklington behind him cast, 

 Now by Bampton, now by Lew, 

 Now by Clanfield, on he flew ; 

 At Grafton now his course inclin'd. 

 And Kelmscote now is left behind ! 



Where waters of the Isis lave 

 The meadows with its classic wave. 

 O'er those meadows speeding on, 

 He near'd the bridgeway of St. John ; 

 He paused a moment on the bank, 

 His footsteps in the ripple sank, 

 He felt how cold, he saw how strong 

 The rapid river roll'd along ; 

 Then turn'd away, as if to say, 

 " All those who like to cross it may." 



The Huntsman, though he view'd him back, 

 View'd him too late to turn the pack, 

 Which o'er the tainted meadow prest. 

 And reach'd the river all abreast ; 

 In with one plunge, one billowy splash, 

 In — altogether — in they dash. 

 Together stem the wintry tide, 

 Then shake themselves on t'other side ! 

 " Hark, hollo back ! " that loud halloo 

 Then eager, and more eager grew. 

 Till every hound, recrossing o'er, 

 Stoop'd forward to the scent once more ; 

 Nor further aid, throughout the day, 

 From Huntsman or from Whip had they. 

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