 | Hunting Songs |  |
A Growl from the Squire of Grumbleton.
I
I was born and bred a Tory,And my prejudice is strong,
Young men, bear with me kindly,
If you think my notions wrong.
II
I learnt them from my father,One whose pride it was to sit,
160
By the side of Billy Pitt.
III
I love the gabled mansionBy my ancestors uprear'd,
Where the stranger-guest is welcome,
And the friend by time endear'd.
IV
I love the old grey bell-tower,And its ivy-muffled clock;
And I love the honest Parson
As himself he loves his flock.
V
Fresh youth I feel within meWhen a morning fox is found,
And I hear the merry music
Through the ringing woods resound.
VI
And I love, when evening closes,And a good day's sport is o'er,
Thrice to pour into the wine-cup
Ruddy port of thirty-four.
VII
I have told you what I love—nowLet me tell you what I hate—
161
On the heir to my estate.
VIII
Old Nelson to the FrenchmanIn a voice of thunder spoke,
What would Nelson say to Gladstone
With his tax on British oak?
IX
Hounds I hate which, shy of stooping,Must be lifted still and cast,
Like many a fool who follows,
Far too flashy and too fast.
X
Iron engines which have silenc'dIn the barn the thresher's flail;
Iron wires, a modern makeshift
For the honest post and rail.
XI
Knaves and blacklegs, who have elbow'dFrom the Turf all honest men,
Blasted names and ruin'd houses
Fallen ne'er to rise again.
XII
Cant and unwhipp'd swindlers—Rant and rivalry of sect—
162
In silk and satin deck'd.
XIII
Song from the green bough banish'd,The voiceless woodlands still,
The sparkle of the trout stream
Foul'd and blacken'd by the mill.
XIV
A Unionist each craftsman,A poacher every clown,
Brawl and beerhouse in the Village,
Lust and ginshop in the Town.
XV
Though with all thy faults, dear England,In my heart I love thee still,
These are plague-spots on thy beauty
Which mine eyes with sorrow fill.
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