 | Hunting Songs |  |
194
The Lovers' Quarrel.
For a maid fair and young to the portal was led,
For her pastime one morning, a bay thoroughbred;
At once with light step to the saddle she bounds,
Then away to the crowd which encircled the hounds.
For her pastime one morning, a bay thoroughbred;
At once with light step to the saddle she bounds,
Then away to the crowd which encircled the hounds.
'Mid the many who moved in that bustle and stir,
There was one, one whose heart lay a-bleeding for her;
One who thought, tho' as yet he approach'd not her side,
With what care, if need were, he would guard her and guide.
There was one, one whose heart lay a-bleeding for her;
One who thought, tho' as yet he approach'd not her side,
With what care, if need were, he would guard her and guide.
To and fro waves the gorse as the hounds are thrown in,
'Tis a fox, and glad voices the chorus begin;
That maiden's keen eye, o'er the crest of her bay,
Was the first to detect him when stealing away.
'Tis a fox, and glad voices the chorus begin;
That maiden's keen eye, o'er the crest of her bay,
Was the first to detect him when stealing away.
195
As she shot through the crowd at the covert-side gate,
“'Tis the same gallant fox that outstripp'd us of late;
The darling old fox!” she exclaimed, with delight,
Then away like a dart to o'ertake the first flight.
“'Tis the same gallant fox that outstripp'd us of late;
The darling old fox!” she exclaimed, with delight,
Then away like a dart to o'ertake the first flight.
Tho' he took the old line, the old pace was surpass'd,
(He will own a good steed, he who lives to the last,)
Her own she press'd on without fear, for she knew
She was mounted on one that would carry her through.
(He will own a good steed, he who lives to the last,)
Her own she press'd on without fear, for she knew
She was mounted on one that would carry her through.
She had kept her own place with a feeling of pride,
When her ear caught the voice of a youth alongside,
“There's a fence on ahead that no lady should face,
Turn aside to the left—I will show you the place.”
When her ear caught the voice of a youth alongside,
“There's a fence on ahead that no lady should face,
Turn aside to the left—I will show you the place.”
Women mostly, they say, love to take their own line,
Giving thanks for advice which they mean to decline;
Whether women accept the advice or oppose it,
Depends, I think, much on the man who bestows it.
196
Whether women accept the advice or oppose it,
Depends, I think, much on the man who bestows it.
That voice seem'd to fall on her ear like a spell,
She turn'd, for she thought she could trust it right well;
To the field on the left they diverted their flight—
At that moment the pack took a turn to the right.
She turn'd, for she thought she could trust it right well;
To the field on the left they diverted their flight—
At that moment the pack took a turn to the right.
“Persevere,” said the youth, “let us gain the beechwood,
The old fox will assuredly make his point good;”
Knowing scarce what she did, she still press'd on the bay,
Nor found out till too late, they were both led astray.
The old fox will assuredly make his point good;”
Knowing scarce what she did, she still press'd on the bay,
Nor found out till too late, they were both led astray.
Youth and maid they stood still when they reach'd the wood-side,
Forlorn, then, the hope any further to ride;
In despair they look round, but no movement espy,
Not a hound to be seen either distant or nigh.
Forlorn, then, the hope any further to ride;
In despair they look round, but no movement espy,
Not a hound to be seen either distant or nigh.
197
Both silent there stood they—indignant the maid,
The youth stung with grief at the part he had play'd;
Still he thought, from the wreck he had made of the day,
That some treasure of hope he might yet bear away.
The youth stung with grief at the part he had play'd;
Still he thought, from the wreck he had made of the day,
That some treasure of hope he might yet bear away.
Thus the silence he broke: “Until hunting were done
I had hop'd, dearest maid, this avowal to shun,
Till the season were over to practise restraint,
Nor to vex you till then with a lover's complaint.
I had hop'd, dearest maid, this avowal to shun,
Till the season were over to practise restraint,
Nor to vex you till then with a lover's complaint.
But the moment is come, and the moment I seize,
Those glances of anger let pity appease,
Leave me—leave me no longer in anguish and doubt,
While I live you shall never again be thrown out.”
Those glances of anger let pity appease,
Leave me—leave me no longer in anguish and doubt,
While I live you shall never again be thrown out.”
“Is it thus,” she exclaimed, “that a bride can be won?
Wretched man that you are, you have lost me my run!
Farewell! nor the hand of a huntress pursue,
When the whip which it grasps is deservedly due.”
Wretched man that you are, you have lost me my run!
198
When the whip which it grasps is deservedly due.”
Though that lover rode home the most wretched of men,
Though that maid vow'd a vow they should ne'er meet again,
Love laughs at the quarrels of lovers they say,
When the season was o'er, they were married in May.
Though that maid vow'd a vow they should ne'er meet again,
Love laughs at the quarrels of lovers they say,
When the season was o'er, they were married in May.
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