HUNTING SONGS 



There those steeds that were bankrupt of breath in 



the hunt. 

 Were right glad to recover their wind in a punt ; 

 The stag safely snatch'd from the jaws of the pack. 

 To his hayrack and hovel they carted him back. 



He whom fortune has here from Northamptonshire 



sent, 

 With such pastime in Bucks will be little content ; 

 Though faster at Melton the thoroughbreds' flight, 

 The jumpers at Melbourne can beat them in 



height. 



He who laughs at their sport would be heartless 



indeed. 

 For since hunting is hunting we wish them good 



speed ; 

 They who lack a whole loaf must content be with 



half. 

 They who have not a fox must put up with a calf. 



On the Death of Major IVhyte-Melville 



DECEMBER 5, I 878 



IN the Vale of White Horse meeting 

 On a bright December day. 

 What means the look of triumph 

 Which so gladdens that array .? 

 190 



