BEAUFORT HUNT: PAST AND PRESENT. 73 



"The Blue and the Buff." 



The late Major G. J. Whyte-Melville, the celebrated author, 

 who hunted from Tetbury, and who met with a fatal accident whilst 

 out hunting with the V.W.H. near Braydon Pond on December 5th, 

 1878, wrote and dedicated the following poem to His Grace the 

 Duke of Beaufort : 



In coats of all colours we follow the pack, 



There is green for the youthful and grey for the old ; 

 The Church out a-hunting rides forward in black, 



And Royalty glistens in scarlet and gold : 

 But Badminton borrows her hues from the sky, 



When it smiles in our faces, as upward we look. 

 And the slowest of s])ortsmen is tempted to fly 



In the yellow and azure he dons for the Duke. 



Then give me a cheer for the Blue and the Buff I 



And one cheer more for the Buff and the Blue I 

 The man in the coat is undoubtedly tough. 

 But the heart in his waistcoat is tender and true. 



The harvest is gather'd, the fallows are bare. 



And something foretells we shall have it to-day : 

 There's a bloom on the gorse, there's a scent in the air, 



And the little red rover is forward away ! 

 He is view'd by his Grace on the crest of the hill, 



But he whisks through the fence ere his brush can be seen. 

 And we know by the whistle, so piercing and shrill. 



We must hurry to follow the Marquis in Green. 



Then give me a cheer, etc. 



How they drive to the front — how they bustle and spread — 



These badger-pyed beauties that open the ball 1 

 Ere we've gone for a mile they are furlongs ahead. 



For they pour like a torrent o'er upland and wall. 

 There is raking of rowel and shaking of rein, 



(Few hunters can live at the Badminton pace), 

 And the pride of the stable's extended in vain. 



And the Blue and the Buff are all over the place I 

 Then give me a cheer, etc. 



The tale is a long one — a tale to be told ; 



Like the tail of a comet it streams to the rear ; 

 The dashing, the doubting, the crafty, the bold. 



Are all of them coming, but few of them here ; 

 For some are defeated, and others are blown. 



While half of the Field in a lane is comjiress'd. 

 Though a score of good fellows arc holding tlieir own. 



And a score of good horses are doing their best. 



Then give ine a cheer, etc. 



I would call them by name were I nearer the front. 



But you know them far better than me, I expect ; 

 And it's little disgrace to be out of a hunt, 



When the pace is so good and the Field so select. 

 There's a parson, a peer, and a soldier, I think. 



Of landlords a coujjle, of tenants a few ; 

 A dandy in leathers, a doctor in pink. 



And a plentiful muster of comrades in blue. 



Then give rac a cheer, etc. 



