6 



" Forrard on ! " where the fences are deepest and strongest, 

 Through the best of the vale they were leading the van. 

 The run of the season ! the fastest ! the longest ! 

 The sweets of the chase are a heaven to man ! 



But stay ! I can see, though the years be declining, 

 This picture before me quite plainly to-day ! 

 A breathless and motionless figure reclining, 

 The hounds in the distance still speeding away. 



A gap in the hedgerow but recently mended 

 With treacherous wire, the curse of the age, 

 What way would you have it ? was murder intended ? 

 What else can you call it ? — I speak to the sage. 



So crushed with the fall that her life had departed ; ' 

 Ere those who were near her had time to dismount. 

 The sturdy old huntsman was quite broken-hearted ; 

 As he helped with the few who were easy to count. 



How beautiful, still, in the glow of the morning, 

 She looked, as we laid her asleep on the plain ! 

 The leaves of the autumn fell round her, adorning 

 Her face, as they whispered sweet words to the slain. 



And slowly they bore her — that solemn procession — 

 Laid out on a hurdle, with reverent care ! 

 The steed followed after, as though in possession — 

 It needed no bridle to steady the mare. 



