^r. Bromley-Davenport 



Select is the circle in which I am moving, 



Yet open and free the admission to all ; 

 Still, still more select is that company proving, 



Weeded out by the funker and thinned by the fall ; 

 Yet here all are equal — no class legislation, 



No privilege hinders, no family pride : 

 In the * image of war ' show the pluck of the nation ; 



Ride, ancient patrician ! democracy, ride ! 



Oh ! gently, my young one ; the fence we are nearing 



Is leaning towards us — 'tis hairy and black. 

 The binders are strong, and necessitate clearing. 



Or the wide ditch beyond will find room for your back. 

 Well saved ! We are over ! now far down the pastures 



Of Ashwell the willows betoken the line 

 Of the dull-flowing stream of historic disasters ; 



We must face, my bold young one, the dread Whissendine I 



No shallow-dug pan with a hurdle to screen it. 



That cock-tail imposture the steeple chase brook ; 

 But the steep broken banks tell us plain, if we mean it, 



The less we shall like it the longer we look. 

 Then steady, my young one, my place I 've selected. 



Above the dwarf willow 'tis sound I '11 be bail. 

 With your muscular quarters beneath you collected. 



Prepare for a rush like the * limited mail.' 



Oh ! now let me know the full worth of your breeding, 



Brave son of Belzoni, be true to your sires. 

 Sustain old traditions — remember you 're leading 



The cream of the cream in the shire of the shires ! 



95 



