Hunting Songs by R. E. Egerton-Warburton |
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On Reading in the “Times,” April 9th, 1860, a Critique on the Life of Asheton Smith.
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 | Hunting Songs |  |
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On Reading in the “Times,” April 9th, 1860, a Critique on the Life of Asheton Smith.
The mighty Hunter taken to his rest,
His cherish'd sport now points the critic's jest,
Pleas'd of a sect facetiously to tell
A “meet” their heaven and a frost their hell,
Who blindly follow, clad in coats of pink,
A beast whose nature is to run and stink;
When view'd, with shouts of frantic joy they greet him,
Forbearing still, when they have kill'd, to eat him,
His head enshrin'd within a crystal case,
His “brush,” a relic, on their walls they place.
In mad devotion to this beast unclean,
Encountering “Bullfinches” (whate'er that mean)
They ride to fall and rise again forthwith,
A sect whose great high-priest was Asheton Smith.
His cherish'd sport now points the critic's jest,
Pleas'd of a sect facetiously to tell
A “meet” their heaven and a frost their hell,
Who blindly follow, clad in coats of pink,
A beast whose nature is to run and stink;
When view'd, with shouts of frantic joy they greet him,
Forbearing still, when they have kill'd, to eat him,
His head enshrin'd within a crystal case,
His “brush,” a relic, on their walls they place.
In mad devotion to this beast unclean,
Encountering “Bullfinches” (whate'er that mean)
They ride to fall and rise again forthwith,
A sect whose great high-priest was Asheton Smith.
Let him who laughs our noble sport to scorn,
Meet me next year at Melton or at Quorn;
Let the fast train by which his bolts are sped
Bring down the Thunderer himself instead,
My cover hack (not Stamford owns a finer)
Can canter glibly like a penny-a-liner;
Free of my stable let him take the pick,
Not one when mounted but can do the trick;
Fast as his pen can run, if he can ride,
The foremost few will find him at their side;
His leader left unfinish'd on the shelf,
To prove a leading article himself!
Meet me next year at Melton or at Quorn;
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Bring down the Thunderer himself instead,
My cover hack (not Stamford owns a finer)
Can canter glibly like a penny-a-liner;
Free of my stable let him take the pick,
Not one when mounted but can do the trick;
Fast as his pen can run, if he can ride,
The foremost few will find him at their side;
His leader left unfinish'd on the shelf,
To prove a leading article himself!
With closing daylight, when our pastime ends,
Together dining, we will part good friends;
And home returning to his gas-lit court,
His mind enlighten'd by a good day's sport,
Of hounds and hunting some slight knowledge then
Shall guide the goose-quill, when he writes again.
Together dining, we will part good friends;
And home returning to his gas-lit court,
His mind enlighten'd by a good day's sport,
Of hounds and hunting some slight knowledge then
Shall guide the goose-quill, when he writes again.
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