 | Hunting Songs |  |
The Love-Chace.
Fond Lover! pining night and day,
Come listen to a hunter's lay;
The craft of each is to pursue,
Then learn from hunting how to woo.
Come listen to a hunter's lay;
The craft of each is to pursue,
Then learn from hunting how to woo.
It matters not to eager hound
The cover where the fox is found,
Whether he o'er the open fly,
Or echoing woods repeat his cry;
And when the welcome shout says “Gone!”
Then we, whate'er the line, rush on.
Seen seated in the banquet-hall,
Or view'd afoot at midnight ball,
Whene'er the beating of your heart
Proclaims a find, that moment start!
The cover where the fox is found,
Whether he o'er the open fly,
Or echoing woods repeat his cry;
And when the welcome shout says “Gone!”
Then we, whate'er the line, rush on.
Seen seated in the banquet-hall,
Or view'd afoot at midnight ball,
Whene'er the beating of your heart
Proclaims a find, that moment start!
36
If silence best her humour suit,
Then make at first the running mute;
But if to mirth inclin'd, give tongue
In spoken jest or ditty sung;
Let laughter and light prattle cheer
The love-chace, when the maid is near;
When absent, fancy must pursue
Her form, and keep her face in view;
Fond thoughts must like the busy pack
Unceasingly her footsteps track.
Then make at first the running mute;
But if to mirth inclin'd, give tongue
In spoken jest or ditty sung;
Let laughter and light prattle cheer
The love-chace, when the maid is near;
When absent, fancy must pursue
Her form, and keep her face in view;
Fond thoughts must like the busy pack
Unceasingly her footsteps track.
The doubt, the agony, the fear,
Are fences raised for you to clear;
Push on through pique, rebuff, and scorn,
As hunters brush through hedge of thorn;
On dark despondency still look
As hunters on a yawning brook,
If for one moment on the brink
You falter, in you fall—and sink.
Are fences raised for you to clear;
Push on through pique, rebuff, and scorn,
As hunters brush through hedge of thorn;
On dark despondency still look
As hunters on a yawning brook,
If for one moment on the brink
You falter, in you fall—and sink.
Though following fast the onward track,
Turn quickly when she doubles back;
Whenever check'd, whenever crost,
Still never deem the quarry lost;
Cast forward first, if that should fail,
A backward cast may chance avail;
Cast far and near, cast all around,
Leave not untried one inch of ground.
Turn quickly when she doubles back;
Whenever check'd, whenever crost,
Still never deem the quarry lost;
Cast forward first, if that should fail,
A backward cast may chance avail;
Cast far and near, cast all around,
Leave not untried one inch of ground.
37
Should envious rival at your side
Cling, jostling as you onward ride,
Then let not jealousy deter,
But use it rather as a spur;
Outstrip him ere he interfere,
And splash the dirt in his career.
Cling, jostling as you onward ride,
Then let not jealousy deter,
But use it rather as a spur;
Outstrip him ere he interfere,
And splash the dirt in his career.
With other nymphs avoid all flirting,
Those hounds are hang'd that take to skirting:
Of Cupid's angry lash beware,
Provoke him not to cry “Ware hare;”
That winged whipper-in will rate
Your riot if you run not straight.
Those hounds are hang'd that take to skirting:
Of Cupid's angry lash beware,
Provoke him not to cry “Ware hare;”
That winged whipper-in will rate
Your riot if you run not straight.
Though Reynard, with unwearied flight,
Should run from dawn till dusky night,
However swift, however stout,
Still perseverance tires him out;
And never yet have I heard tell
Of maiden so inflexible,
Of one cast in so hard a mould,
So coy, so stubborn, or so cold,
But courage, constancy, and skill
Could find a way to win her still;
Though at the find her timid cry
Be “No! no! no! indeed not I,”
The finish ever ends in this,
Proud beauty caught, at last says, “Yes.”
Should run from dawn till dusky night,
However swift, however stout,
Still perseverance tires him out;
And never yet have I heard tell
Of maiden so inflexible,
Of one cast in so hard a mould,
So coy, so stubborn, or so cold,
But courage, constancy, and skill
Could find a way to win her still;
Though at the find her timid cry
Be “No! no! no! indeed not I,”
The finish ever ends in this,
Proud beauty caught, at last says, “Yes.”
38
Hunters may range the country round,
And balk'd of sport no fox be found;
A blank the favourite gorse may prove,
But maiden's heart, when drawn for love,
(Their gracious stars let Lovers thank,)
Was ne'er, when drawn aright, drawn blank.
And balk'd of sport no fox be found;
A blank the favourite gorse may prove,
But maiden's heart, when drawn for love,
(Their gracious stars let Lovers thank,)
Was ne'er, when drawn aright, drawn blank.
If any could, that Goddess fair,
Diana, might have scap'd the snare;
That cunning huntress might have laugh'd,
If any could, at Cupid's shaft;
Still, though reluctant to submit,
That tiny shaft the Goddess hit;
And on the mountain-top, they say,
Endymion stole her heart away.
Diana, might have scap'd the snare;
That cunning huntress might have laugh'd,
If any could, at Cupid's shaft;
Still, though reluctant to submit,
That tiny shaft the Goddess hit;
And on the mountain-top, they say,
Endymion stole her heart away.
Bear this in mind throughout the run,
“Faint heart fair lady never won;”
Those cravens are thrown out who swerve,
“None but the brave the fair deserve.”
“Faint heart fair lady never won;”
Those cravens are thrown out who swerve,
“None but the brave the fair deserve.”
Success will aye the Lover crown,
If guided by these rules laid down;
Then little Cupid, standing near,
Shall greet him with a lusty cheer;
And Hymen, that old huntsman, loop
The couples, while he shouts, “Who-hoop!”
If guided by these rules laid down;
Then little Cupid, standing near,
Shall greet him with a lusty cheer;
And Hymen, that old huntsman, loop
The couples, while he shouts, “Who-hoop!”
| Hunting Songs | |