Then down in his turn without further delay 

 Came the one who was riding the flea-bitten grey ; 

 The brook it was deep, and the brook it was wide, 

 The flea-bitten took the whole thing in his stride. 



The brook it was wide, and the brook it was deep. 

 The banks were all rotten and ever so steep ; 

 When the country was worst, he was happy and gay — 

 This marvellous hunter, the flea-bitten grey. 



Through the best of the vale, quite alone with the hounds, 

 Still fleeting along with those silvery sounds ; 

 What rapture such moments disclose to the mind ! 

 What words can describe all the feelings combined ! 



All those who have taken their part in the fun 

 Say the essence of life is a foxhunting run ; 

 And still for an hour we hunted and ran, 

 And still had it all to ourselves in the van. 



Till they marked him to ground, every hound in his place ! 

 'Twas honours divided all round in the race ! 

 Two hours and a bit from the time that we found, 

 As fast as you liked, till we ran him to ground. 



For twenty good minutes I waited alone 

 Till the master came up, looking frightfully done ; 

 And a squad of hard riders (one minus his hat), 

 With the marks of the soil upon which they had sat. 



B 2 



