APPENDIX C 



OLD DERBYSHIRE POEM ON THE GREAT RUN 

 WITH SQUIRE FRITH'S HARRIERS* 



(From " The Sporting Magazine," 1826) 



Hark ! Hark ! brother Sportsman, what musical sounds 

 Through the valley do ring from the merry-mouth' d hounds ! 

 No one in this land with Squire Frith can compare, 

 For chasing bold Reynard or hunting the hare. 



When Phoebus peeped over yon high eastern hills. 

 And darted his rays o'er the lawns and the fields. 

 One eighth of December — a mem'rable morn, 

 We chased bold Reynard with hounds and with horn. 



With a staunch and fleet pack, most sagacious and true, 

 What a musical chorus when Reynard's in view ! 

 No pleasure like hunting we mortals can know ; 

 Then follow ! hark forward, boys ! yoicks ! Tally-ho ! 



First for the Combs rocks swift as lightning he flew ; 

 Tally-ho ! was the word, we've bold Reynard in view ! 

 The hills and the valleys re-echo all round 

 With the shout of the huntsman and the cry of the hound. 



The cunning old trotter no covert can find ; 

 Our staunch dogs pursue him as fleet as the wind : 

 For all the strong holds we had stopped up secure, 

 And crafty old Reynard the chase must endure. 



* There appear to be two versions of this poem : the other, 

 taken from The Reliquary, vol. i., 1 860-1, p. 243, having 

 been kindly forwarded to me from Derbyshire. There are 

 some few differences, but, on the whole, the versions are much 

 the same. I have printed the older rendering. 



