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THE TWELFTH OF AUGUST.
It's half-past six by us, P.M., so you will soon be wending
Your way up to the leeward edge with pointer and with gun,
For 'tis the glorious Twelfth to-day, of honour never-ending,
And we have not forgotten it beneath the Austral sun.
Your way up to the leeward edge with pointer and with gun,
For 'tis the glorious Twelfth to-day, of honour never-ending,
And we have not forgotten it beneath the Austral sun.
It's not so many years ago since you and I together
Were working, on this very Twelfth, the old Dumfriesshire Moor,
And treading with elastic step the fragrant crackling heather,
While Dick and Ben, with noses down, followed the grouse's spoor.
Were working, on this very Twelfth, the old Dumfriesshire Moor,
And treading with elastic step the fragrant crackling heather,
While Dick and Ben, with noses down, followed the grouse's spoor.
How grand it was for one, whose gun had lain since February
Upon the gun-rack, suddenly to see his pointer stop
And stiffen out his tail, the while standing erect and wary—
He waited for your readiness to put the covey up.
Upon the gun-rack, suddenly to see his pointer stop
And stiffen out his tail, the while standing erect and wary—
He waited for your readiness to put the covey up.
And grander still on drawing near to see the red grouse springing
Before his well-trained nose about as far as you could kill,
And get both barrels on their heads, truly and cleanly, bringing
A cock down right and left, stone dead with scarce a damaged quill.
Before his well-trained nose about as far as you could kill,
And get both barrels on their heads, truly and cleanly, bringing
A cock down right and left, stone dead with scarce a damaged quill.
13
And then the luncheon on the moor, with purple mountains sweeping
Behind each other, wave on wave, as far as eye could see,
And little tufts of moss and fern between the boulders peeping
Marking the brooklet's lair in case the ladies wanted tea.
Behind each other, wave on wave, as far as eye could see,
And little tufts of moss and fern between the boulders peeping
Marking the brooklet's lair in case the ladies wanted tea.
Ethel had eyes as blue as were the August heavens above her,
And hair as bright and sparkling as the bumpers of champagne
Which we tossed off to her as toast—you could not help but love her,
She was so dainty in her grace—so gracious in disdain.
And hair as bright and sparkling as the bumpers of champagne
Which we tossed off to her as toast—you could not help but love her,
She was so dainty in her grace—so gracious in disdain.
Mary was Vesta, tea-maker; Ethel was our Diana,
Ready to smile her sweetest thanks on any gentleman
Who chose to give her up his gun for half-an-hour and train her,
Hippolyta the Second and a modern Marian,
Ready to smile her sweetest thanks on any gentleman
Who chose to give her up his gun for half-an-hour and train her,
Hippolyta the Second and a modern Marian,
Dressed all in tweed, with kilted skirt and manly Norfolk jacket,
And curious eyes would note below a real shooting-boot
(But so well-shaped and tasteful that it seemed profane to black it),
Laced tightly to the ancle of her arched and slender foot.
And curious eyes would note below a real shooting-boot
(But so well-shaped and tasteful that it seemed profane to black it),
Laced tightly to the ancle of her arched and slender foot.
Is Ethel there with you, besieged by just as many lovers?
Or has she cried Peccavi to some fox-and-game Bashaw,
And been transferred from running wild to strictly preserved covers,
Where poaching will be met with all the rigour of the law?
Or has she cried Peccavi to some fox-and-game Bashaw,
And been transferred from running wild to strictly preserved covers,
Where poaching will be met with all the rigour of the law?
I'd like to walk with you once more, in your grand August weather,
Upon the old Dumfriesshire moor with pointer and with gun,
And to have another sniff at the fragrance of the heather—
I'd even like to see an adder coiled up in the sun
Upon the old Dumfriesshire moor with pointer and with gun,
And to have another sniff at the fragrance of the heather—
I'd even like to see an adder coiled up in the sun
On a patch of warm dry peat by the edge of the brown water,
Or a hedgehog, or a stoat—it would look so like old times;
And I'd like to show Miss Ethel, if by herself I caught her,
That I have lips for something else besides repeating rhymes.
Or a hedgehog, or a stoat—it would look so like old times;
And I'd like to show Miss Ethel, if by herself I caught her,
That I have lips for something else besides repeating rhymes.
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