93 



But our pace is the best, sir; the fox is hard prest, sir : 

 The hounds run with zest, sir^, heads up and sterns 



down; 

 He can't reach yon cover ; no, no, 'tis all over — 

 Hark how the death-peahng tallies resound. 



Dined — o'er our claret 



We'll talk of the merit 

 Of ev'ry choice spirit that rode in this run ; 

 But here the crowd, sir, can be just as loud, sir, 

 As those who were foremost enjoying the fun. 

 Faster and faster they tell each disaster 

 Of bunglers and tumblers, and tailors who shun ; 



While we drink round, sir, 



And drink to these hounds, sir, 

 Who over such ground, sir, could show us such fun. 



ON THE DEATH OE CAPT. BEEKELET'S 



(ATTEEWAEDS SIE MAUEICE and lord riTZHAEDINGE) 



HORSE. 



He turned to take a last long look, the evening sky was 



red. 

 The leading hounds already must have been two fields 



ahead. 

 Their fox was sinking rapidly, the chase was nearly done. 

 And he had gone the best, the first, throughout that 



glorious run ; 

 And then in sadness down he looked to where beside 



him lay 

 The steed who'd borne his lord so well through all that 



wondrous day ! 



