 | Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) |  |
99
THE HAWKING PARTY.
Dimly gray the dawn is stealing—
Stealing up the eastern sky;
Loud the red-cock's clarion peeling
Tells the world that morn is nigh.
Stealing up the eastern sky;
Loud the red-cock's clarion peeling
Tells the world that morn is nigh.
Southerly the wind is sweeping
O'er the forests sad and sere;
Heavily the dews are weeping—
O'er the death of the woodland year.
O'er the forests sad and sere;
Heavily the dews are weeping—
O'er the death of the woodland year.
Faint and few the stars are paling
Through the rents o' the rising mist—
Though the fog-wreaths heavenward sailing
Are not yet by the sunbeam kissed.
Through the rents o' the rising mist—
Though the fog-wreaths heavenward sailing
Are not yet by the sunbeam kissed.
All the things that love the day,
All that feed or fly by night,
Early greet the opening day—
Early shun the approach of light.
All that feed or fly by night,
Early greet the opening day—
Early shun the approach of light.
Homeward is the hill-fox bending
Slyly through the darksome glen;
From their nests the rooks are wending,
Far and fast o'er field and fen.
Slyly through the darksome glen;
From their nests the rooks are wending,
Far and fast o'er field and fen.
Swift the woodcock's wing is gliding
Down the vale to his lonely brake,
And the teal her brood is hiding
In the reeds by the lilied lake.
Down the vale to his lonely brake,
And the teal her brood is hiding
In the reeds by the lilied lake.
100
In the yellow stubbles feeding
Calls the partridge sharp and shrill,
While his hinds the stag is leading
Toward his holt from the heathy hill.
Calls the partridge sharp and shrill,
While his hinds the stag is leading
Toward his holt from the heathy hill.
Lo! the great sun skyward rushing,
Blithe as giant from his lair,
While the lavrock's chant outgushing
Greets the lord of earth and air!
Blithe as giant from his lair,
While the lavrock's chant outgushing
Greets the lord of earth and air!
In their stalls the coursers stamping
Chide their laggard grooms, this morn:
They their bits should now be champing,
Bounding now to the mellow horn.
Chide their laggard grooms, this morn:
They their bits should now be champing,
Bounding now to the mellow horn.
In their courts the pack is whining,
Anxious, with erected ear,
For the glorious rally pining,
For the jolly hunter's cheer.
Anxious, with erected ear,
For the glorious rally pining,
For the jolly hunter's cheer.
Wake then, wake, each peerless maiden.
Wake, each gallant cavalier;
Lo! the gale with moisture laden,
And the month the best o' the year!
Wake, each gallant cavalier;
Lo! the gale with moisture laden,
And the month the best o' the year!
Blithe September's days are over,
Brown October's suns are past,
Sere is now the seeding clover,
And the leaves are falling fast.
Brown October's suns are past,
Sere is now the seeding clover,
And the leaves are falling fast.
Southern wind and cloudy sky,
Not a dew-drop on the thorn;
Splendidly the scent will lie:
'Tis a glorious hunting morn.
Not a dew-drop on the thorn;
Splendidly the scent will lie:
'Tis a glorious hunting morn.
101
Lo! they muster, lord and lady;
Brow of pride and cheek of bloom,
Pointed beard and tresses shady,
Velvet robe, and waving plume.
Brow of pride and cheek of bloom,
Pointed beard and tresses shady,
Velvet robe, and waving plume.
Housings gay, and bits gold-glancing,
Bells of falcons tinkling light;
Chargers tall, and palfreys prancing,
Meet for damsel, meet for knight.
Bells of falcons tinkling light;
Chargers tall, and palfreys prancing,
Meet for damsel, meet for knight.
Yeomen tall, with badge and bearing,
Gather to the bugle blast;
Green-frocked varlets, featly wearing
Frames whereon the hawks to cast.
Gather to the bugle blast;
Green-frocked varlets, featly wearing
Frames whereon the hawks to cast.
Gray-haired huntsmen, sage and steady,
Oracle of all the train;
Hare-brained pages rash and ready
For the skurry o'er the plain.
Oracle of all the train;
Hare-brained pages rash and ready
For the skurry o'er the plain.
They have limmers fleet and fiery,
They have bloodhounds stanch and slow,
They have terriers grim and wiry,
They have spaniels slight and low.
They have bloodhounds stanch and slow,
They have terriers grim and wiry,
They have spaniels slight and low.
Long-winged falcon, merlin light,
Tarsel gentle, goshawk gay,
Foes for fowl of every flight,
Heavy duck, or heron gray.
Tarsel gentle, goshawk gay,
Foes for fowl of every flight,
Heavy duck, or heron gray.
Choose your coursers, grasp your bridles,
Lightly leap to the broidered selle;
Lo! yon jennet snorts and sidles;
Gallant, look to the lady well.
Lightly leap to the broidered selle;
Lo! yon jennet snorts and sidles;
Gallant, look to the lady well.
102
O'er the meadows, gently sweeping
To the marge of the streamlet clear,
Slowly now the train is creeping,
Lest the heronshaw should hear—
To the marge of the streamlet clear,
Slowly now the train is creeping,
Lest the heronshaw should hear—
Where beside the riplets dancing,
Still and silent as the stone,
Whence he waits the small fry's glancing,
Sits the hermit gray and lone.
Still and silent as the stone,
Whence he waits the small fry's glancing,
Sits the hermit gray and lone.
Now the spotted brach is questing—
See her feather, see her stoop!
Ho! boy, cease thy timeless jesting!
Lo! the quarry! Falconer, whoop!
See her feather, see her stoop!
Ho! boy, cease thy timeless jesting!
Lo! the quarry! Falconer, whoop!
With his harsh note hoarsely clanging,
Lazily the air he fans,
Heavily his long legs hanging,
Slow he beats his sail-broad vans.
Lazily the air he fans,
Heavily his long legs hanging,
Slow he beats his sail-broad vans.
Falconer, whoop! fling free your jesses!
Let the Norway falcon fly!
Dames, 'twill ruffle sore your tresses;
Would you see this heron die!
Let the Norway falcon fly!
Dames, 'twill ruffle sore your tresses;
Would you see this heron die!
Oh! but you must gallop gladly,
Over dry and through the deep;
Spur your faltering jennets madly;
Lift them at the rashest leap!
Over dry and through the deep;
Spur your faltering jennets madly;
Lift them at the rashest leap!
See! he spies the falcon's pinion;
Upward! upward! soars he straight—
Toward the skylark's lone dominion,
Where he sings at high heaven's gate.
Upward! upward! soars he straight—
Toward the skylark's lone dominion,
Where he sings at high heaven's gate.
103
Up, and up, in circles sailing,
Wheels the heron round and round—
Higher yet the hawk is scaling,
Higher yet the blue profound.
Wheels the heron round and round—
Higher yet the hawk is scaling,
Higher yet the blue profound.
Scarce you see them now careering—
Now they're lost i' the vapors dun;
See them—see them reappearing,
Far above the morning sun!
Now they're lost i' the vapors dun;
See them—see them reappearing,
Far above the morning sun!
Now the hawk, in pitch of pride,
Meditates his fatal swoop:
Watch him now, howe'er ye ride—
Watch him, would you see him stoop.
Meditates his fatal swoop:
Watch him now, howe'er ye ride—
Watch him, would you see him stoop.
Lo! he binds him—plumb, together,
Fifty fathoms through the sky,
Falcon's talon, heron's feather,
Down they struggle—win or die!
Fifty fathoms through the sky,
Falcon's talon, heron's feather,
Down they struggle—win or die!
On the greensward faintly lying,
Heavenward ne'er again to soar,
Hawk and heron both are dying,
Beak and single wet with gore.
Heavenward ne'er again to soar,
Hawk and heron both are dying,
Beak and single wet with gore.
Woe for thee, thou bird so daring—
Doomed ignobly thus to fall!
Long thy bells, like warrior's bearing,
Shall bedeck the old oak wall.
Doomed ignobly thus to fall!
Long thy bells, like warrior's bearing,
Shall bedeck the old oak wall.
Long, the theme of knightly story,
Shall thy gallant feats be told—
Parcel of thy good lord's glory—
Won by river, wood, and wold.
Shall thy gallant feats be told—
Parcel of thy good lord's glory—
Won by river, wood, and wold.
104
Out! alas, I am but dreaming:
In this cold degenerate day
Naught of high or knightly seeming
Lives, but in the minstrel's lay.
In this cold degenerate day
Naught of high or knightly seeming
Lives, but in the minstrel's lay.
Knightly sports and knightly daring
Long ago have passed away;
We, their names and 'scutcheons bearing,
Soon to pass, and be as they.
Long ago have passed away;
We, their names and 'scutcheons bearing,
Soon to pass, and be as they.
Well for us, if, when we perish,
History bears as high a trace
Of the things we do and cherish,
As of their renownèd race.
History bears as high a trace
Of the things we do and cherish,
As of their renownèd race.
But I fear me, history's showing
Will for us be brief and bare;
All our modern trumpet-blowing
Bootless blasts of empty air.
Will for us be brief and bare;
All our modern trumpet-blowing
Bootless blasts of empty air.
And I only can deplore me,
As I think, in bygone days,
What my fathers were before me,
What their labors, what their praise.
As I think, in bygone days,
What my fathers were before me,
What their labors, what their praise.
| Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) | |