TARWOOD 



Ah ! much it grieves the Muse to tell 

 At Clanfield how Valentia fell ; 

 He went, they say, like one bewitch'd, 

 Till headlong from the saddle pitch'd ; 

 There, reckless of the pain, he sigh'd 

 To think he might not onward ride ; 

 Though fallen from his pride of place, 

 His heart was following still the chace ; 

 He bade his many friends forbear 

 The proffer'd aid, nor tarry there ; 

 " O ! heed me not, but ride away ! 

 The Tarwood fox must die to-day ! " 



Nor fell Valentia there alone. 

 There too in mid career was thrown 

 The Huntsman — in the breastplate swung 

 His heels — his body earthward hung ; 

 With many a tug at neck and mane. 

 Struggling he reach'd his seat again ; 

 Once more upon the back of Spangle, 

 His head and heels at proper angle 

 (Poor Spangle in a piteous plight). 

 He look'd around him, bolt upright. 

 Nor near nor far could succour see, — 

 Where can the faithless Juliet be ? 

 He would have given half his wage 

 Just then to see her on the stage ; 

 The pack those meads by Isis bound 

 Had reach'd ere Jem his Juliet found ; 

 Well thence with such a prompter's aid. 

 Till Reynard's death her part she play'd. 



I 65 



