Valentine Verses or, Lines of Truth, Love, and Virtue. By the Reverend Richard Cobbold |
 |
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. |
 | Valentine Verses |  |
161
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER.
The morn is fine, the rising sun
Proclaims a cheerful day;
The Sportsman takes his dog and gun,
And hastens him away.
Proclaims a cheerful day;
The Sportsman takes his dog and gun,
And hastens him away.
But ere he's off, a word of joy,
A lively smile is seen,
He calls his dog, his man, or boy,
And chats upon the green:—
A lively smile is seen,
He calls his dog, his man, or boy,
And chats upon the green:—
“The scent is fine, the grass is wet;
“Old Ponto, poor old dog!
“Good fellow you will do as yet;—
“Boy, loosen off that clog!—
“Old Ponto, poor old dog!
“Good fellow you will do as yet;—
“Boy, loosen off that clog!—
“Now Reuben, take the partridge-bag,
“Put panniers on the mare;
“We must not stop, or talk, or flag,
“I like this morning air.
“Put panniers on the mare;
“We must not stop, or talk, or flag,
“I like this morning air.
162
“Come, come, my friend, we lose our time,
“Come, let's be off I pray.—
“Now Poetry a perfect rhyme,
“Old Ponto hie away!”—
“Come, let's be off I pray.—
“Now Poetry a perfect rhyme,
“Old Ponto hie away!”—
Now see them off,—the stile is past,
The field is enter'd now;
The keeper with the dog in haste;
Boy, by the hedge's row.
The field is enter'd now;
The keeper with the dog in haste;
Boy, by the hedge's row.
Ye sportsmen, tell me, have ye known,
Perhaps ye may remember,
That some such feelings were your own,
On merry First September.
Perhaps ye may remember,
That some such feelings were your own,
On merry First September.
O such were mine! but ne'er will be
Again the sportsman's lot;
I do not quarrel with the glee,
Believe me, I do not.
Again the sportsman's lot;
I do not quarrel with the glee,
Believe me, I do not.
But other things are now my sport,
And other views my game;
Although a shot, 'twas not my forte,—
My pleasure I could name.
And other views my game;
Although a shot, 'twas not my forte,—
My pleasure I could name.
163
But still I see with cheerful face,
The sportsmen in the field,
And memory can strictly trace,
To none in love I yield.
The sportsmen in the field,
And memory can strictly trace,
To none in love I yield.
Judge by the line how much 'twas so,
Ye sportsmen, hark! I hear
The word of joy, “toho! toho!
“The covey's somewhere here!
Ye sportsmen, hark! I hear
The word of joy, “toho! toho!
“The covey's somewhere here!
“Toho old dog! toho! toho!
“Now steady, steady Don,
“A pretty point! aye truly so
“The game's but little on.
“Now steady, steady Don,
“A pretty point! aye truly so
“The game's but little on.
“Now, Sir, walk up.” They walk in haste,
How anxiously they tread!
Pray Sir, for sporting have you taste?
Do think the poet sped!
How anxiously they tread!
Pray Sir, for sporting have you taste?
Do think the poet sped!
The covey springs, pop bang! pop bang!
“That bird is mine and this!—
“How prettily the covey sprang!
“Ah! pray Sir, did you miss?”
“That bird is mine and this!—
“How prettily the covey sprang!
“Ah! pray Sir, did you miss?”
164
How oft I've seen the first shot ta'en,
How oft have seen the joy!
And often of the first bird vain,
Have thrown it to the boy!
How oft have seen the joy!
And often of the first bird vain,
Have thrown it to the boy!
How often too, when others hit
And I have miss'd my aim,
My nether lip in sorrow bit,
And eyed the flying game!
And I have miss'd my aim,
My nether lip in sorrow bit,
And eyed the flying game!
They load again; no whip, no flog!
“Come Reuben, kill'd my first!
“Well found, well stood, my dear old dog,
“This satiates my thirst.”—
“Come Reuben, kill'd my first!
“Well found, well stood, my dear old dog,
“This satiates my thirst.”—
Again away, away they range,
The well-train'd pointers speed;
'Tis fact, however much 'tis strange,
There's something, Sir, in breed.
The well-train'd pointers speed;
'Tis fact, however much 'tis strange,
There's something, Sir, in breed.
'Tis true a shot will make a dog,
Perhaps may make him stand;
I hate to scold, to kick, and flog,
To get him in command.
Perhaps may make him stand;
I hate to scold, to kick, and flog,
To get him in command.
165
A noble breed of any kind,
Well nurtur'd and well train'd,
Assuredly you'll ever find
The best to be retain'd.
Well nurtur'd and well train'd,
Assuredly you'll ever find
The best to be retain'd.
Their heads are high, their hearts if good
Will never know delay,
But prompt to speed as good ones shou'd,
They ever hie away.
Will never know delay,
But prompt to speed as good ones shou'd,
They ever hie away.
I love to see a pointer stand,
A senator as firm,
Well-backed upon their master's land,—
How like you, Sir, the term?
A senator as firm,
Well-backed upon their master's land,—
How like you, Sir, the term?
“Ah ha! look there, his nose is low,
“His body twisted round.
“A hare, a guinea Sir, 'tis so,
“I know it by the ground.”
“His body twisted round.
“A hare, a guinea Sir, 'tis so,
“I know it by the ground.”
Away she bounds, “Ah ha! well done!
“You shot her, Sir, in style,
“Methought, however, she was gone,
“You let her get a mile.—
“You shot her, Sir, in style,
“Methought, however, she was gone,
“You let her get a mile.—
166
“Go pick her up, boy, take the hare.
“Look yonder, mark! mark! mark!
“Two coveys; boy, bring up the mare;
“I heard a gun; Hark! hark!—
“Look yonder, mark! mark! mark!
“Two coveys; boy, bring up the mare;
“I heard a gun; Hark! hark!—
“Reuben, who's that? just go and see,
“A trespasser I fear,—
“Confound him, whosoe'er he be,
“What does he poaching here!”
“A trespasser I fear,—
“Confound him, whosoe'er he be,
“What does he poaching here!”
“'Tis Mr. Cobbold, Sir.” “Indeed,
“Pray ask him in to mine;
“Good morning, Sir! What sport? what speed?
“I hope you'll come and dine.”
“Pray ask him in to mine;
“Good morning, Sir! What sport? what speed?
“I hope you'll come and dine.”
“I thank you kindly, I must bend
“My steps to B.'s to-day;
“'Tis Mr. C. my sporting friend—
“Good morning:”—“Hie away.”—
“My steps to B.'s to-day;
“'Tis Mr. C. my sporting friend—
“Good morning:”—“Hie away.”—
Away again, again they find,
Again they bag their game;
The young ones sometimes lurk behind,
And old ones do the same.
Again they bag their game;
The young ones sometimes lurk behind,
And old ones do the same.
167
The day grows hot—the pointers flag,—
The sportsmen take their lunch;—
The boy brings home the well-fill'd bag,—
The dogs the biscuits crunch.—
The sportsmen take their lunch;—
The boy brings home the well-fill'd bag,—
The dogs the biscuits crunch.—
A little brandy, wine, or beer,
A piece of bread and cheese,
At such time are the best of cheer,
And always sure to please.
A piece of bread and cheese,
At such time are the best of cheer,
And always sure to please.
Refresh'd, they walk.—Some better shoot,
Some cannot kill so well;—
Some have a thorn within their foot,
A sprain or strain to tell.—
Some cannot kill so well;—
Some have a thorn within their foot,
A sprain or strain to tell.—
How often have I walk'd along
Through heat, and drought, and sun,
Unwilling, as I am this song,
To leave it when begun.
Through heat, and drought, and sun,
Unwilling, as I am this song,
To leave it when begun.
How often wish'd at close of day
To lengthen out the space,
To have it in my power to say,
“I've shot, Sir, my ten brace.”
To lengthen out the space,
To have it in my power to say,
“I've shot, Sir, my ten brace.”
168
But full as oft been forc'd to yield,
At evening sun's decline,
The pleasure of the sportsman's field,
For that of home and wine.
At evening sun's decline,
The pleasure of the sportsman's field,
For that of home and wine.
How often there in pleasant talk,
Recounted shot and miss;—
Proposed a day;—another walk—
Another such as this.—
Recounted shot and miss;—
Proposed a day;—another walk—
Another such as this.—
Ye sportsmen all, the cheerful song
Of love and peace remember;
Be just and good,—And may ye long
Enjoy your First September.
Of love and peace remember;
Be just and good,—And may ye long
Enjoy your First September.
| Valentine Verses | |