J^r. Egerton Warhurton 



For hard as iron shoe that trod 



Its surface, the unyielding sod ; 



They champ'd the bit and twitch'd the rein, 



And paw'd the frozen earth in vain ; 



Impatient with fleet foot to scour 



The vale, each minute seem'd an hour. 



Till mid-day fun had made the ground 



Fit treading for the foot of hound ; 



Still Rumour says of that array 



Scarce ten lived fairly through the day. 



Ah ! how shall I in song declare 

 The riders who were foremost there ? 

 A fit excuse how shall I find 

 For every rider left behind ? 



Though Cokethorpe seem one open plain, 

 'Tis slash'd and sluiced with many a drain, 

 And he who clears those ditches wide 

 Must needs a goodly steed bestride. 

 From Bampton to the river's bounds 

 The race was run o'er pasture grounds ; 

 Yet many a horse of blood and bone 

 Was heard to cross it with a groan ; 

 For blackthorns stiff the fields divide 

 With watery ditch on either side. 

 By Lechlade's village fences rise 

 Of every sort and every size. 

 And frequent there the grievous fall 

 O'er slippery bank and crumbling wall ; 

 Some planted deep in cornfield stand, 

 A fix'd incumbrance on the land ! 



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