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Ten acres of copse, on a gentle slope, 



By a belt of gorse surrounded ; 

 All grass, as far as the eye could reach, 



By the low, blue hill-line bounded. 



That day my mount was Thunderbolt, 



Of black Prunella's breed, 

 Who, thro' toil and peril never yet 



Had fail'd me at my need ; 

 With strength for the deep, and wind for the down. 



With a racing turn of speed. 



Ere long a challenge and a cheer 



Came floating down the wind, 

 'Twas Mermaid's note, and the huntsman's voice — 



We knew it was a find. 

 The dull air woke as from a trance, 



As sixty hounds joined chorus ; 

 And away we went, with a stout dog fox 



Not a furlong's length before us. 



A quiver shot through my strong horse 



I'rom his hoof to his swelling crest, 

 As a stout ship thrusts the waves aside, 



Thro' the meaner crowd he prest. 

 Till he took the place that was his by right, 



And we settled down in the foremost flight 

 To hold our own with the best. 



The sight of a hound or the sound of a horn 



Warms my old blood even now, 

 And this was when the tide of youth 



Ran foaming at its flow — 

 No trifle in those merry days 



Turn'd me and my peers I trow ! 



