HUNTING SONGS 



Trotting homeward in Spring on the hope we rely 

 That we reach it ere dark with our hunting-coat dry ; 

 The horse undistress'd by the work he has done, 

 The rider well pleased with his place in the run. 



This world, can it show such a picture of woe 

 As a frozen-out Master imprison'd in snow ? 

 His feet on the fender he rides his arm-chair. 

 Even ' Baily ' avails not to soothe his despair. 



Good sport with good cheer merry Christmas may 



bring, 

 But the joy of all joys is a gallop in Spring, 

 By the thought, when a brook we encounter made 



bold. 

 That the stream is less rapid, the water less cold. 



When each cheer is by song of sweet birds echoed back, 

 Their music a prelude to that of the pack ; 

 When clouds soft and southerly streak the blue sky, 

 When the turf is elastic and scent is breast high. 



'The Man with Ofie Hunter 



THERE are lords who their hunters can count by 

 the score. 

 Scarce a Squire in the land but can stable his four ; 

 Like myself, there are few who, too poor to keep two, 

 Go a-hunting on one, and that one an old screw. 

 i8o 



