i82 THE OLD BERKS HUNT 



TAR WOOD. 



A Run with the Heythrop, 1845. 



He waited not — he was not found — 

 No warning note from eager hound, 

 But echo of the distant horn, 

 From outskirts of the covert borne, 

 Where Jack the Whip in ambush lay, 

 Proclaimed that he was gone away. 



Away! ere yet that blast was blown, 

 The fox had o'er the meadow flown ; 

 Away ! away ! his flight he took, 

 Straight pointing for the Windrush brook. 



The Miller, when he heard the pack. 

 Stood tiptoe on his loaded sack. 

 He view'd the fox across the flat. 

 And, needless signal, waved his hat ; 

 He saw him clear with easy stride 

 The stream by which the mill was plied ; 

 Like phantom fox he seemed to fly, 

 With speed unearthly flitting by. 



The road that leads to Whitney Town 

 He travelled neither up nor down ; 

 But straight away, like arrow sped 

 From cloth-yard bow, he shot ahead. 

 Now Cokethorpe on his left he passed, 

 Now Ducklington behind him cast. 

 Now by Bampton, now by Lew, 

 Now by Clanfield on he flew ; 

 At Grafton now his course inclined ! 

 And Kelmscote now is left behind ! 



