H 



SCENES FROM THE SADDLE. 



A View. 



'ARK ! a holloa ! a holloa ! but none too clear, 

 Yet the knowing old hunter cocks an ear, 

 Hark 1 a holloa again ! 'tis a whipper-in 

 With a note that carries over woodland and whin. 

 The hunt in the corner no longer need wait. 

 Both horses and men in a fidgety state, 

 But the covert is thick, the covert is wide, 

 It is a long way round and ne'er a cross ride 

 To lead to the point where the first whip stood, 

 W^hen he saw old reynard break out of the wood. 

 There's this way and that way, but which is the best ? 

 The way reynard is heading can only be guessed, 

 But stay not— it is foolish to linger in doubt, 

 The way to be wise is to go and find out. 



In time l~but no more, for the pack is away 



With chestnut and brown and conspicuous grey, 



With riders in pink and mufti and black, 



In rivalry keen, too close in its track. 



In time — but no more, to keep well in touch — 



Not one of the few the first flight to reach. 



You can hunt with your head or a fear-nothing heart, 



You will need them combined if you make a slow start, 



And a good horse, and fast, if you'd keep hounds in view 



When they make the great runnmg they sometimes do. 



Then 'tis the bold and young and light have the place ; 



But there's joy e'en behind in the scenes of the chase. 



When the fields they are small and fences come thick, 

 A fence with a rail, or the on-and-ofF trick, 



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