HUNTING SONGS 



Or how my brother Huntsmen face 

 If short of booking fifty brace ? 

 Excuse me, gentlemen, I say. 

 My hounds have had but two to-day." 



On Peter Collison s late Fall 



1868 



BAD luck betide that treacherous spot 

 Where Peter's horse, though at a trot, 

 Roll'd over, hurling headlong there 

 A Huntsman whom we ill could spare ; 

 As there he lay and gasp'd for breath. 

 Unconscious quite and pale as death. 

 The clinging hounds around him yell. 

 And wailing moans their sorrow tell. 



Let , who over-rides them all, 



Take warning by our Huntsman's fall ; 



When such shall be that rider's fate 



(And his it will be soon or late). 



They o'er the downfall of their foe 



Will not upraise the voice of woe ; 



When prostrate, if the pack should greet him 



With open mouths, 'twill be to eat him. 



134 



