APPENDIX 301 



Then let's away at break of day, 



Ride vale and hill-top o'er, 

 Scale mountains' side or stem the tide 



To spear the flying boar ; 

 And Time may then bring eve again, 



The while, at Pleasure's shrine, 

 To check his flight for one gay night 



We'll wet his wing with wine ; 

 And ere we part pledge hand and heart 



Once more to rally here, 

 To fill the cup and drain it up 



To Saddle, Spur, and Spear. 



S. Y. S. 



RECOLLECTIONS 



The pictures of horses and faces, 



The tiger-skins spread in the hall. 

 The " Asians " reports of old races, 



The tushes and horns on the wall — 

 What dreams of dead days do they waken ! 



What visions of past youth recall ! 

 But what use to repine ? I have taken 



My leave of it all. 



What now can I turn to for pastime ? 



I know, in mean streets as I walk, 

 That I've looked on it all for the last time : 



The dripping laborious stalk, 

 The panther kill — claw-marked and bitten. 



The pug marks fresh oozing in mud, 

 The trail of the tiger lung-smitten 



All frothy with blood. 



The bells of the cattle returning 



At evening, the cry of the shepherd, 

 The smoke of the undergrowth burning. 



The wood-sawing call of the leopard. 

 The beat, when the elephants crashing 



Grows steadily nearer and louder. 

 The scent of the trees they are smashing. 



The lurch of the howdah. 



