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 |  |
Clifford rode first, and swift the chase he led,
While the black heath was dimpled as he fled;
Next Skipton's sons, and those of Barden Fell,
Followed in quick succession through the dell:
Anon, the youths of Bolton led the way,
Then Eastby hunters rode the first that day;
While Rilstone riders showed themselves to be
Far better horsemen than the moderns see.
The footmen stopped behind, half filled with fears
That his rough hide was proof against their spears;
Then high o'er Hober's hill, whose sable crest
Oft with the furious monster had been prest,
The cheerful tenants of the woody vale
Shouted sometimes, then told a hunting tale;
Till, swelling on the breeze, they hear the sounds
Of hunters' shouts, and cry of eager hounds.
The answering shouts from its high top arise,
And hats and caps are cast toward the skies!
Ofttimes the boar would strive to seek repose,
Then front to front would meet his coming foes;
And, as he found his every effort vain,
He hastened, panting, further up the plain.
At length he found a chasm, where oft he'd lain,
Half filled with bones of victims he had slain.
The hunters came, and raised their shining spears—
His blazing eye-balls showed he knew no fears.
The fiercest British bull-dogs stood around,
At last a mastiff his deep cavern found;
Three bull-dogs followed, two of which were slain,
Before they brought him to the light again.
A rash young hunter would have thrown his spear,
But Clifford raised his arm, and cried, “Forbear!
The sun has reached not the meridian sky,
Let there be nobler sport before he die.”
While the black heath was dimpled as he fled;
Next Skipton's sons, and those of Barden Fell,
Followed in quick succession through the dell:
Anon, the youths of Bolton led the way,
Then Eastby hunters rode the first that day;
While Rilstone riders showed themselves to be
Far better horsemen than the moderns see.
The footmen stopped behind, half filled with fears
That his rough hide was proof against their spears;
Then high o'er Hober's hill, whose sable crest
Oft with the furious monster had been prest,
30
Shouted sometimes, then told a hunting tale;
Till, swelling on the breeze, they hear the sounds
Of hunters' shouts, and cry of eager hounds.
The answering shouts from its high top arise,
And hats and caps are cast toward the skies!
Ofttimes the boar would strive to seek repose,
Then front to front would meet his coming foes;
And, as he found his every effort vain,
He hastened, panting, further up the plain.
At length he found a chasm, where oft he'd lain,
Half filled with bones of victims he had slain.
The hunters came, and raised their shining spears—
His blazing eye-balls showed he knew no fears.
The fiercest British bull-dogs stood around,
At last a mastiff his deep cavern found;
Three bull-dogs followed, two of which were slain,
Before they brought him to the light again.
A rash young hunter would have thrown his spear,
But Clifford raised his arm, and cried, “Forbear!
The sun has reached not the meridian sky,
Let there be nobler sport before he die.”
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |