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Original, serious, and religious poetry

by the Rev. Richard Cobbold

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HELMINGHAM.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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81

HELMINGHAM.

On Friday last, whilst staying with my friends,
At Helmingham, not far from this my home,
At early dawn of lovely August day,
The gentle tapping at my bed room door,
Told me some sport was waiting in the park,
For my perception. Quickly to the lawn,
I hastened down, and found the keeper there
Awaiting my request, which, was, to see,
A red stag shot, if ever such should be.
Methink me now I am jogging in the van
Between the master keeper, and my friend:
The keeper's son with rifle in his hand,
Couch'd like a lion in the cart below;
Whilst close behind us kept a riding man,

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Another keeper. Now we seek the herd
And drive through shades, o'er ant heaps, hills, and dales,
Through drains, o'er stumps, and broken crackling sticks,
Still looking out for antlers 'neath the shade,
Or stately stags reposing. After search,
At length we found them, lying in a herd,
Majestic figures. At the cart's advance
One stately stag, not used to be disturb'd,
Rose slowly; turning round his lofty head,
He looked in earnest, with enquiring eye,
To see if mischief were intended. Soon
He saw behind the cart, the riders form,
And snorting, with a nod he shook his horn,
A notice to the rest; they all rose up
And lifting high their noses to the wind,
They snuffed the atmosphere, and tried the air,
As if some danger brooded in the cart.
They little thought, how quickly keeper's eye,

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Could mark the fattest. “Look ye Bob at him,
Whose horn is shorter than the rest, or him
Whose back is ruffled with a rising knot
Of hair disturb'd; me think me he will do.
His sides hang heavy, make them move along
The rider darted from the cart, and rode
In full advance upon the startled herd,
The master stag, still kept upon the van,
As if determined to behold his care,
Before him all dispos'd. Had he been fat,
He had the first been victim; slow they went,
With springing step, and every moment paus'd,
And one and all, attentive in their flight,
On us who follow'd. “Well my boy the best,
Is yon same ruffled fellow, whose fat haunch
Hangs flapping round him, mark his person well;
See how he pants; his carcase is the best.”
Now moving on we keep along pursuit,
Not losing sight, determined to succeed.
At various times the keeper aim'd his gun,

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But still he was not certain, and so shy,
The very stag now noted to be slain,
Appeared so conscious of the treachery,
He kept aloof, without the reach of gun.
'Twas vain pursuing, so we chang'd our post,
And mounting now the body of a tree,
Three of us stood in quiet of suspense;
Whilst others drove them. Like a rustling wind
The herd came panting even to the spot,
And past beneath us; more than once I thought,
If foot should slip, and cause me to descend
And fall upon the antlers of the stag,
What state would quickly be the lot of one,
Who wish'd for happiness. But soon again
The herd returned, 'twas curious to see
How one on horeback, twisted, turn'd, about,
And push'd them forward: even to the place,
Where rifleman awaited them. They stopt,
And he the one well noted 'mong the whole,
Apart stood panting, looking at the horse,

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Unconcious of his fate. The bullet flew,
And struck him on the head; a single groan,
And down he fell upon the grassy plain.
The rest fled swiftly. Quickly now to earth,
The horseman leapt, and snatching from its case,
The fated knife, he severed from the neck,
The bleeding head. One instant this was done,
And life and action were as quickly gone.
What Life art thou, how instantaneous seems,
Thy swift departure from the fleshly form!
How soon falls prostrate, at the bullets blow,
Or very simple cause, the pride of man:
Ah man, how vain the struggles of the flesh,
How feeble are thy efforts to escape.
The bolt of Heaven may strike thee as thou stand'st
Unconcious of thy death; be sure of this
If ever prospect of expected bliss,
Presented to thy vision make thee try
To keep thy credit with consistency,

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That come the time, assuredly must come,
The time that takes thee to thy long last home.
Ere that be present look thou to thy soul,
And keep thy body in the best controul.