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Lines weitten by Geoege Templer, of Stover, on 



HIS GIVING UP THE SoUTH DeVON HoUNDS. 



" MY OLD HOEN." 



Tho' toil hath somewhat worn thy frame, 

 And time hath marred thy beauty, 



Come forth, loved relic of my fame. 

 Thou well hast done thy duty. 



Time was when other tongues would praise 

 Thy wavering notes of pleasure, 



Now miser-like alone I gaze 

 On thee, a useless treasure. 



Some hearts may prize thy music still, 

 But oh ! how changed the story 



Since first Devonia felt the thrill 

 That roused her sporting glory. 



Grace still in every vale abounds, 

 But one dear charm is wanting ; 



No more I hear my gallant hounds 

 In chorus blithely chaunting. 



And there my steed hath found a rest 



Beneath the mountain heather, 

 That oft, like comrades sworn, we've prest 



In pleasure's train together. 



And some, who at thy call would wake, 

 Hath friendship long been weeping ; 



A shriller note than mine must wake 

 Their deep and dreamless sleeping. 



