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Yet a shudder, such as cowards feel, 

 Thro' my very marrow crept, 



When I saw a feuce that cross'd our line, 

 As down the hill we swept : 



And well the firmest cheek might blanch, 



The sternest courage fail 

 At the bullfinch, with its yawning drain, 



A deep drop iuto a stony lane, 

 And a four-foot oaken rail. 



Each look'd on each, till thus spoke out 



The Nestor of our band, 

 A veteran of war and chase 



Who rode at my right hand : 



" The churl who yonder man-trap laid 



By an ill-death may he fall ! 

 If the fox has headed across the road 



The hounds will leave us all ; 

 !For a tougher brush it were to face 



Ton blackthorn's venomed spears. 

 Than ever we had in the olden time 



With Kellermann's cuirassiers. 



In the pasture just below us 



A knot of gazers stood, 

 Whose eyes had never left us 



Since we broke from Bolton Wood. 

 The best blood of two counties 



Made up that bright array, 

 And there the queen of all our hearts 



Sate on her fiery grey. 



