264 IRISH SPORT AND SPORTSMEN. 



Then Magennis rode hard when the work it got warm, 



Though, like young Ambrose Power, he was minus an arm ; 



The young gov'nor* rode Watty ; Sir Wheelers-stanch rock — 



Rode a tight horse, a son of the famed Hollyhock. 



Big Bayley, on Giant, made two giants there, 



Yet his eyes and his head they were felt everywhere ; 



Young Cooke, on his grey, from Kiltinan, did well ; 



These, with Fowler and Watson. f all met at Dunbell. 



Time was up, ' into covert,' and clear through they go ; 



' Not at home,' said Sir John, 'twas thought it was so. 



We were leaving in groups, but blind Nixon said ' No 1' 



Blind men's poems and travels we cannot deny, 



But a blind, forward horseman, was rare to the eye. 



* There's a hound still in covert,' said Nixon, ' he's here!' 



What the blind want in sight they make up in the ear. 



Old Byrne;]; put them in. ' Hark to Warwick 1' he cried, 



For Warwick, old hound, was his boast and his pride. 



Next moment ' away !' Warwick still at his brush. 



For 'twas Warwick was heard as the hound in the bush. 



How soon we reached Clifden ; the railway alone 



Would convince in these days that the thing e'er was done. 



From Clifden to Bishopslough, thence to Kilfane, 



But, well stopped out there, he next made for Greenane, 



Though he neared Thomastown when he changed his old route, 



Ran towards Coppenagh hills to baffle pursuit ; 



But, pressed hard by the ever-true pack, this good fox 



Wheeled short round to Dangan, and earth'd neath the rocks. 



The' field was select, but with skill and with speed, 



Sir John was the first with the hounds in their need ; 



The picture so gorgeous, from Dangan's full height, 



Had wrapped me in wonder, amaze, and delight ; 



Then the gallant Sir John cried out, ' Yonder's Brown's barn ;' 



And ?,o fifiis I put to the end of my yarn." 



" Thank you ; very orood ; as you won't let me off, 

 I will respond to your call, and sing you a song I 

 composed after a good run with the Ward Hounds. I 

 never sang it before. 



"A RUN WITH THE WARD HOUNDS. 



"Come, boys, fill each glass on the table, 

 And push the decanters about, 

 While 1 give an account, if I'm able, 

 Of a run the last time we were out ; 



* The late Sir John Power, Kilfane. 

 t The master of the Carlow Hunt. 

 I The matchless old huntsman. 



