APPENDIX. 349 



By many a famous covert 



Where 'neath the farmers' care 

 At even shade the cubs have played 



In the still summer air. 



From the once royal forest, 



Scene now of East-end larks, 

 From Romford, whence run early trains, 



Heavy with city clerks. 

 From the long street of Dunmow, 



Where as the story's told. 

 The flitch was yearly given 



To loving pairs of old. 

 From where the Stort meanders 



By mart of malt and flour. 

 From where conspicuous points to heaven, 



The Epping Water-tower. 



Loud are the shouts where racers 



Are straining o'er the lawn, 

 Fast are the deer that cross our ploughs 



To blasts of Petre's horn. 

 Beyond all sports, the angler's 



Endures throughout the year. 

 Best of all days the shooter loves 



To think the twelfth is near. 



But now no thought of racing. 



Of favourites or of tips, 

 Nor of the " unantlered monarch " 



Crosses our minds or lips. 

 Unheeded from the glassy pool 



His leap the salmon flings ; 

 Unharmed o'er stretching moorland 



The grouse may spread his wings. 



