The Sport of Our <*Ancestors 



I would practise — oh, how gladly ! in the fulness of my hate, 

 All the slasher's best instructions on thine ugly dial-plate. 



What is that which I could turn to ? Can a gentleman descend 

 To dig the gold which nature intended him to spend ? 



Every ship is filled with footmen, and Australia overflows 

 With the Piccadilly porters and the butlers whom one knows. 



I had been content to perish on the sandy Sussex shore 

 Where Militia men are marshalled to the Minie rifle's roar. 



But the gentle voice of Cobden drowns the first invader's drum. 

 And the Frenchmen do but bluster, and Napoleon funks to come. 



Can I but relive in fancy ? Can I view the past again ? 



Hide me from my deep emotion — oh, thou wonderful champagne ! 



Make me feel the wild pulsation I have often felt before, 

 When my horse went on before me and my hack was at the 

 door. 



Yearning for the large excitement that the coming sport would 



yield, 

 And rejoicing in the cropper which I got the second field. 



And at night along the highway, in the evening dark and chill, 

 I saw the lights of Melton from the top of Burton Hill. 

 100 



