134 THE QUORN HUNT 



Hark to that cheering note ! they've found him, — see 

 The gorse is waving like a troubled sea ; 

 He's gone away ; hark, halloo ! to the cry ! 

 Like swallows skimming, o'er the fields they fly. 

 " Give them a moment's time, — hold hard, sir, pray ; 

 You'll stop his pulling ere we've done to-day." 

 Look at the gallant pack, away they sweep ! 

 The pace is killing and the country deep. 

 Rolleston is far behind, and on our right, 

 The house at Noseley just appears in sight ; 

 By Glooston Wood, o'er Cranoe Field they pass, 

 Where many a horse declining missed the grass. 



On, on they go — and at a trimming pace ; 



See, Baird is racing for a foremost place ; 



Yet much I do mistrust me, if his steed 



Can hold that pace, and always go full speed. 



White spurts and cranes, now skirting looks for balks, 



And gallops faster than our Rokeby talks. 



See Chesterfield advance with steady hand, 



" Swish at a rasper," and in safety land ; 



Who sits his horse so well ? or at a race, 



Drives four-in-hand with greater skill or grace ? 



And when hounds really run, like him can show, 



How fifteen stone should o'er the country go ? 



If not in person monstrous, yet in weight 

 Campbell comes crashing through a new-made gate ; 

 Now, " by his fathers' gods ! " you hear him swear, 

 And much you wonder who those fathers were. 

 Now Plymouth, at a brook, with Gilmour crams, 

 While Drummond 1 /<?fo his horse and jobbing damns ; 

 With iron hand, and seat devoid of grace, 

 You see at once the counter is his place ; 

 Now on this side, and now on that he pitches, 

 Strikes all his timber, fathoms all his ditches, 

 Till, by a binder caught, a weight of lead, 

 He comes at last to anchor on his head. 



Quite at his ease, yet stealing o'er the grass, 

 From out the struggling crowd see Wilton pass. 



1 This gentleman was better appreciated in the City than at Melton. 



