Stpi'ti^^ion. 95 



How long, then, when its sinews are thus sprung, 



Can hunting last, the sport of all sports' king? 

 How long shall still its thrilling scenes be sung. 



Or who, alas ! its funeral dirge shall sing? 

 The times are out of joint — the past is left. 



But in the future's little food for hope ; 

 Of England's Yoemen and her Squires bereft. 



The chase can't long expect with fate to cope. 

 Not quite too late I've lived its joys to share ; 



I may not live to see its lustre die ; 

 But feel its future never can compare 



With the good times, alas ! so quite gone b}'. 

 Those were the days when Squire and tenant 

 met 



In friendly rivalry at covert side ; 

 When man and master could a living get. 



And still unknown was emigration's tide. 

 Times those, when men were paid, and men could 



pay, 



When land was worthy of its cultivation. 

 When, with contentment, country hearths were 

 gay, 

 And we degraded were not as a nation. 

 But all is changed ; strikes rage where peace had 

 reigned. 

 And unions spread, and treason's tongue's un- 

 checked ; 



