11 MISCELLANEOUS VEESES. 



Welbeck's fair park is desolate, and the rippling waters moan ; 

 For the grave's dark mystery has claimed their scion for its own T 

 No more within St. Stephen's shall he " ground his flag on truth ;" 

 No jovial sounds of horn and hounds shall conjure up his youth. 



No more shall he at Doncaster each foal and yearling pat ; 

 Nor ride up Goodwood's leafy slopes, to the trial ground, with Nat ; 

 No more with Kent and Marson shall he scan each pet " in form;" 

 Nor view their place, as in the race they sweep past like the storm. 



E'en thus did ancient memory upon its arrowy track, 

 With all its dreams and fancies, come flashing sadly back : 

 Then I left the great metropolis, all troubled life and motion, 

 And sought the land where Ouse's stream seeks outlet in the ocean. 



I lingered on " The Heath" at morn saw Surplice in his stride ; 

 And many a sheeted two-year-old, with " jockeys up," beside : 

 'Tis thus, thought I, right carelessly the heartless world glides on, 

 For scarce I heard a single word, of their Master Spirit gone. 



I sought the mound where Pavis in silence sleeps below ; 



And the stone which told, that the hands are cold, which handled 



Plenipo : 



Then I halted at Long Orton, where Strathavon's elms wave, 

 In amorous dalliance with the oaks, o'er old Frank Buckle's grave. 



It seemed that last September was right redolent of death ; 



That the wind which whispered through the boughs bore some dread 



fiend on its breath : 



Fresh turf sods, near Meaux Abbey, their solemn lesson read 

 Where the steersman of Sir Tatton sleeps in his narrow bed. 



Light lie thy earth upon thee ! now thy pilgrimage is o'er ; 



Forgotten be thy failings, since thy heart was sound in core j 



Still may " Brother John," from Malton, to the post his winners 



bring ; 

 As when in Mundig's days ye were twin terrors to the King. 



I sped my way towards Ebor, and viewed, before nightfall, 

 The skeleton of Blacklock, at Bishop Burton Hall : 

 That symmetry and slashing size, that large coarse head, I ween, 

 Have found their best reflection in that Leger trump, the Queen. 



To Walmgate Bar I hastened, slave to my wayward will, 

 And beheld the York Turf Nestor, quite hale and hearty still ; 

 Though well nigh ninety summers, he can reckon 'mong the past, 

 Grant that his health and happiness through many more may last. 



To talk with him of other days seemed converse with " Old Time ;" 



He remembered feats of Bunbury and Mellish in their prime : 



" Hambletonian" and " Diamond" seemed but yestreen ; from his 



lips, 

 Fell tales of Young Bay Maltons of the colts got by Eclipse. 



