 | Australian Lyrics &c |  |
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER.
Grouse shooting has its glories: but for the First of September
Pleasant it was to wend his way back to familiar Kent,
And walk the fields and hopgardens, in which he could remember
Each rise and dip, and gap and gate, that met him as he went.
Pleasant it was to wend his way back to familiar Kent,
And walk the fields and hopgardens, in which he could remember
Each rise and dip, and gap and gate, that met him as he went.
15
In that 12-acre paddock there he brought down his first partridge,
Before the season, mid the hoots of reapers looking on;
And on that knoll his grandfather fired off his latest cartridge,
The day that his long pilgrimage of eighty years was done.
Before the season, mid the hoots of reapers looking on;
And on that knoll his grandfather fired off his latest cartridge,
The day that his long pilgrimage of eighty years was done.
That's the first gate he ever took upon the old grey pony;
To that oak copse his father oft to meet his mother crept,
And down the road that rounds the hill drove with a faithful crony,
To marry her at Harbledown, while all the “big house” slept.
To that oak copse his father oft to meet his mother crept,
And down the road that rounds the hill drove with a faithful crony,
To marry her at Harbledown, while all the “big house” slept.
There stands the hall where he was born, with chimneystacks and gables
In the Elizabethan style, and crown-glass window-panes,
And with a courtyard quadrangled by outhouses and stables,
All of red brick, suffused with brown by sun and weather-stains.
In the Elizabethan style, and crown-glass window-panes,
And with a courtyard quadrangled by outhouses and stables,
All of red brick, suffused with brown by sun and weather-stains.
He'd like to go back there and have a walk with the old keeper,
Who taught him how to hold a gun, and set up the goshawk,
That was his earliest trophy—shot just where the edge grows steeper,
And hangs above the Roman road, almost a cliff of chalk.
Who taught him how to hold a gun, and set up the goshawk,
That was his earliest trophy—shot just where the edge grows steeper,
And hangs above the Roman road, almost a cliff of chalk.
He'd like to go back there and have a shoot with his old neighbours,
With those who shared his holidays, since holidays he had,
And were his mates and rivals in all country sports and labours
Upon the ancient manor, ever since he was a lad.
With those who shared his holidays, since holidays he had,
And were his mates and rivals in all country sports and labours
Upon the ancient manor, ever since he was a lad.
He would like a good stiff day, and his father to dispute his
Supremacy with bird for bird from dawn to fall of night,
In an undulating cornfield, where the speckled little beauties
Might rise from any rise one topped, a dozen at a flight.
Supremacy with bird for bird from dawn to fall of night,
In an undulating cornfield, where the speckled little beauties
Might rise from any rise one topped, a dozen at a flight.
Or to walk a field of turnips with his favourite Gordon setter,
Unheedful of the dew and the luxuriance of the “Roots,”
Until a shiver told him that he'd “got a thorough wetter,”
Above, and in between, and through his gaiters and his boots.
Unheedful of the dew and the luxuriance of the “Roots,”
Until a shiver told him that he'd “got a thorough wetter,”
Above, and in between, and through his gaiters and his boots.
And to see his cousin Madge, looking most divinely pretty,
In her blushes and her smiles, and a gauzy dinner-dress,
Fingering the feathered spoil with a tender touch of pity,
To alloy her exultation, and enhance her loveliness.
In her blushes and her smiles, and a gauzy dinner-dress,
Fingering the feathered spoil with a tender touch of pity,
To alloy her exultation, and enhance her loveliness.
16
She had not rose-tinged cheeks, her hair was russet and not golden,
Her eyes if blue at all, were not of the “hall-marked” sky hue;
Yet it needed not the eyes of a lover to embolden
One to match her with the wearers of the gold and of the blue.
Her eyes if blue at all, were not of the “hall-marked” sky hue;
Yet it needed not the eyes of a lover to embolden
One to match her with the wearers of the gold and of the blue.
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