28 Recollections of the Vine Hu)it. 



' Why rest our horses in the stable, 

 To carry us completely able, 

 Oh, why not hunt to-day ? ' 



I'll tell you, boy, at once my reason ; 

 ' For all on earth there is a season,' 



So said an ancient prince. 

 Who had for wisdom some small credit ; 

 And that with perfect truth he said it. 



Experience will convince. 



When corn is housed, and fields are clear ; 

 And Autumn's various tints appear. 



None more enjoy than I 

 To see the pack diffusely spread. 

 Or jostling press to gain the lead 



With loud and cheerful cry. 



The farmer then no cares molest, 

 He rides and halloos with the rest 



Across his very farm ; 

 And if a field of new-sprung wheat 

 Just feel the print of horse's feet, 



He knows we do no harm. 



But when the wheat is higher grown, 

 And pease and oats and barley sown. 



And fences made up tight, 

 To gallop all the country over. 

 And cut up sainfoin, corn, and clover, 



Is neither fair nor right. 



And small the joy, when new-sown grounds. 

 And dry roads puzzling oft the hound. 



All hope of sport present ; 

 When violets in hedgerows growing. 

 And primroses in copses blowing 



Must take away the scent. 



Besides, thus still to persevere 

 In hunting almost round the year 



Has but an awkward look ; 

 Might lead our neighbours to suspect. 

 That all improvement we neglect, 



And rarely touch a book. 



