Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn edited by Dr. Shelton Mackenzie |
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[The hounds in the kennel are yelling loud] |
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 | Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn |  |
232
[The hounds in the kennel are yelling loud]
The hounds in the kennel are yelling loud,
The hawks are boune for flight;
For the sun hath burst from his eastern shroud,
And the sky is clear, without a cloud,
And the steed for the chase is dight:
The merry huntsmen, up in the morn,
Crack the long whip, and wind the horn.
The hawks are boune for flight;
233
And the sky is clear, without a cloud,
And the steed for the chase is dight:
The merry huntsmen, up in the morn,
Crack the long whip, and wind the horn.
Lord Timothy rubbed his eyes, and rose
When he heard the merry crew;
He scarce took space to don his clothes,
And his night-cap quick he threw
Back on the pillow, and down the stair,
Disdaining brush or comb for hair,
With lightning speed he flew;
And in the twinkling of a fan,
With frock and cap, the gallant man,
Caparison'd all spick and span,
Was with the waiting crew.
Sir Abraham rode his bonny gray;
Sir Anthony his black;
Lord Hector hath mounted his sprightly bay;
Lord Tom, Lord Jack, and all are away;
Curvet, and demivolte, and neigh,
Mark out their bold and brisk array,
With buckskins bright, and bonnets gay,
And bugles at each back.
When he heard the merry crew;
He scarce took space to don his clothes,
And his night-cap quick he threw
Back on the pillow, and down the stair,
Disdaining brush or comb for hair,
With lightning speed he flew;
And in the twinkling of a fan,
With frock and cap, the gallant man,
Caparison'd all spick and span,
Was with the waiting crew.
Sir Abraham rode his bonny gray;
Sir Anthony his black;
Lord Hector hath mounted his sprightly bay;
Lord Tom, Lord Jack, and all are away;
Curvet, and demivolte, and neigh,
Mark out their bold and brisk array,
With buckskins bright, and bonnets gay,
And bugles at each back.
They had hardly ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile but barely ten,
As each after each they leaped a stile,
When their heart play'd pit-a-pat the while,
To see a troop of armed men,
A troop of gallant men at drill,
With well soap'd locks, and stiffen'd frill;
Each in his grasp held spear or sword,
Ready to murder at a word,
And ghastly was each warrior's smile,
Beneath his barred aventayle;
Buff belts were girt around each waist;
Steel cuisses round each thigh were braced;
Around each knee were brazen buckles;
And iron greaves to save their knuckles;
High o'er each tin-bright helmet shone
The casque, and dancing morion,
Which reach'd to where the tailor sets,
On shoulder, woollen epaulets;
Their blades were of Toledo steel,
Ferarra, or Damascus real;
Yea! human eye did never see,
Through all the days of chivalry,
Men more bedight from head to heel, &c.
A mile but barely ten,
As each after each they leaped a stile,
When their heart play'd pit-a-pat the while,
To see a troop of armed men,
A troop of gallant men at drill,
With well soap'd locks, and stiffen'd frill;
Each in his grasp held spear or sword,
Ready to murder at a word,
And ghastly was each warrior's smile,
Beneath his barred aventayle;
Buff belts were girt around each waist;
Steel cuisses round each thigh were braced;
Around each knee were brazen buckles;
And iron greaves to save their knuckles;
High o'er each tin-bright helmet shone
The casque, and dancing morion,
Which reach'd to where the tailor sets,
On shoulder, woollen epaulets;
Their blades were of Toledo steel,
Ferarra, or Damascus real;
234
Through all the days of chivalry,
Men more bedight from head to heel, &c.
Lady Alice she sits in the turret tower,
A-combing her raven hair;
The clock hath tolled the vesper hour,
Already the shadows of evening lower
To veil the landscape fair.
To the jetty fringe of her piercing eye
She raised her opera glass,
For she was anxious to espy
If her worthy knight should pass.—
“Lo! yonder he comes,”—she sigh'd and said,
Then with a rueful shake of head—
“Shall I my husband ne'er discover—
'Tis but the white cow eating clover!”
She looked again,—“Sure yon is he,
That gallops so fast along the lea!
Alas! 'tis only a chestnut tree!!
Standing as still as still can be!!!”
—“Come hither, come hither, my little foot page,
And dance, my anguish to assuage;
And be it jig, or waltz, or reel,
I care not, so it doth conceal
The ghosts, that of a thousand dies,
Float evermore before mine eyes;
And I, to make thee foot it gay,
With nimble finger, by my fay,
Upon the tambourine will play!” &c.
A-combing her raven hair;
The clock hath tolled the vesper hour,
Already the shadows of evening lower
To veil the landscape fair.
To the jetty fringe of her piercing eye
She raised her opera glass,
For she was anxious to espy
If her worthy knight should pass.—
“Lo! yonder he comes,”—she sigh'd and said,
Then with a rueful shake of head—
“Shall I my husband ne'er discover—
'Tis but the white cow eating clover!”
She looked again,—“Sure yon is he,
That gallops so fast along the lea!
Alas! 'tis only a chestnut tree!!
Standing as still as still can be!!!”
—“Come hither, come hither, my little foot page,
And dance, my anguish to assuage;
And be it jig, or waltz, or reel,
I care not, so it doth conceal
The ghosts, that of a thousand dies,
Float evermore before mine eyes;
And I, to make thee foot it gay,
With nimble finger, by my fay,
Upon the tambourine will play!” &c.
| Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn | |