The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
The sand young Clifford held was half run down,
When for the chase the cheerful horn was blown;
Then was the best of Craven hunts begun,
The lords e'er saw, or hounds could ever run.
Down bent the bushes as he ran along,
While every hound joined in the enlivening song,
Old Barden's oaks so low their branches spread,
That none could ride, but each his hunter led.
Ofttimes the monster stopped, as in disdain,
Then heard the shouts, and hastened on again;
Till from the woody shades he burst away,
And with him burst the glories of the day!
Some sunk in bogs, and nearly buried, stood,
While others, shouting, issued from the wood;
Beheld the hounds spread on their scented way,
While Posforth Gill just kept them from their prey.
When for the chase the cheerful horn was blown;
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The lords e'er saw, or hounds could ever run.
Down bent the bushes as he ran along,
While every hound joined in the enlivening song,
Old Barden's oaks so low their branches spread,
That none could ride, but each his hunter led.
Ofttimes the monster stopped, as in disdain,
Then heard the shouts, and hastened on again;
Till from the woody shades he burst away,
And with him burst the glories of the day!
Some sunk in bogs, and nearly buried, stood,
While others, shouting, issued from the wood;
Beheld the hounds spread on their scented way,
While Posforth Gill just kept them from their prey.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |