 | Hunting Songs |  |
The Ball and the Battue.
I
Ye who care to encourage the long-feather'd breed,To the Ball overnight let the Battue succeed;
For when the heart aches,
Ten to one the hand shakes
And sighs beget curses, and curses mistakes.
II
For the shot-belt of leather, in velveteen drest,I have doff'd the gold chain and laid by the silk vest,
A pancake so flat
Was my ball-going hat,
But a dumpling to shoot in is better than that.
III
My Manton to concert pitch tun'd for the day,How the pheasants will reel in the air as I play!
45
Pirouette in the sky,
And rabbits and hares in the gallopade die.
IV
“Once more might I view thee, sweet partner!” “Mark hare!She is gone down the middle and up again there”—
“That hand might I kiss,
Mark cock!—did I miss?
Ye Gods, who could shoot with a weapon like this?”—
V
In my breast there's a thorn which no doctor can reach,Ah me!—but what's this that I feel in my breech?—
Overwhelm'd by the pain
Of a love that is vain—
How on earth shall I ever get out of this drain?
VI
Thus a father may rescue his pheasants from slaughter,The best of preservers his own pretty daughter;
46
On the heart a sad weight,
Who, blinded by Cupid, could ever aim straight?
1837.
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