164 WARWICKSHIRE HUNT. 



THE SAME, BY VKNATOK. 



' Huntsman prepare, ere yet the morning peeps, 



Then to the copse, 

 With silence lead th}- many-colour'd hounds, 

 In all their beauty's pride !' 1 



Thy fields, lovelj' Alv'ston, no longer are seen 

 Cloth'd rich with a carpet of velvet and green ; 

 Thy fine stately elms by their fol'age afford 

 Kind shelter no more to the flock and the herd. 

 Bereft of its leaves the grey aspen forlorn 

 No longer salutes the bright goddess of morn. 

 Yet Spring, lovely Alv'ston, will shortly restore 

 Those sweet matchless charms which thou boasted of yore ; 

 The wild bee in clusters thy oaks will surround. 

 Whene'er on their leaves is the honey- dew found ; 

 The asp leaf will tremble once more on the spray. 

 When Spring, blooming Spring, doth her beauties display. 



We cannot opine what's become of the dame, 

 Diana, that lady of stag-hunting fame ; 

 Did she once hear the sweet-noted voice of the hound. 

 She'd no more with her dog, a mere lurcher, be found ; 

 The bow unregarded for ever would lie. 

 If a red coat could give her one kiss on the sly ; 

 If she once saw our sport, and tasted our wine, 

 She'd no more return with their godships to dine. 

 If to courtship inclin'd, she might here find a man. 

 As Endymion handsome — or ugly as Pan ! 



1 An old Sportsman, amongst other judicious observations which 

 he made upon the practices of others when the hounds were drawing a 

 cover, frequently used to say — When in the field, I never desire to hear 

 any other tongue than the tongue of the hound. 



