78 



THE DATS WHEN I RODE WITH THE 

 OUORN. 



O ! bright are the fancies, and sweet the regrets, 



That arise at the sound of the horn ; 

 The friends of my youth, and the years of my fun, 



The days when I rode with the Quorn. 



When I cantered away on the quickest of hacks 



To Six Hills so late in the morn, 

 And hunted unwearied o'er pasture and plough, 



"What sport we had then with the Quorn ! 



What stories were told of the deeds of Tom Smith, 

 Of the time ere Lord Stamford was born ; 



We talked of Sir Eichard, and followed the Earl, 

 In the days when I rode with the Quorn. 



How Treadwell would gloat o'er an oxer or brook ; 



We, boy-like, the obstacles scorn ; 

 How we fell and got up, and were never the worse, 



In the days when I rode with the Quorn. 



Were the horses then really so stout and so good ? 



The covers of thicker blackthorn ? 

 The hounds truer-tongued, and the foxes more straight. 



In the days when I rode with the Quorn ? 



And when we came back into JVIelton at night. 



Tired, happy, and draggled, and torn. 

 Were the ladies then really more lovely and kind 



Than those who now ride with the Quorn ? 



