2 22 Hark Away. 



Up to every lark,* 

 From daylight to dark, 



See " the Chicken," a hig-un, both stalwart and tall ; 

 Never craning, he'll race. 

 Till lie's in a good place, 



Whilst he's not to be baulked by a stile or stone wall. 



On his gallant old grey, 

 " Little Gilmour " to-day, 



As fresh as when " l!Jimrod " first marked him for fame ; 

 After forty long years. 

 Much the same yet appears, 



As when first that grand writer selected his name. 



But see, there's the Master ! f 

 Ah ! who will go faster, 



Should hounds run a clinker from Gartree to-day? 

 Though so quiet he looks, 

 He's a glutton for brooks, 



As you'll find if the Whissendine come in his way. 



Now Tom Firr is going, 

 For I hear his horn blowing. 



So jump in your saddle and stick to the hounds ; 

 For he has a queer knack. 

 Slipping off with the pack, 



When the " field" can't be held within moderate bounds. 



Then suddenly waking, 

 The magic spell breaking, 



Away fly these visions, too pleasant to last ; 

 Yet so vividly clear, 

 Did these old scenes appear. 



That it's hard to believe they belong to the past. 



Jan, 1879. 



* Captain Hartopp. t Mr. Coupland. 



