BALLAD. (When faintly gleams the doubtful day)

When faintly gleams the doubtful day, Ere yet the dew-drops on the thorn Borrow a lustre from the ray That tips with gold the dancing corn, Health bids awake, and homage pay To him who gave another morn.

And well with strength his nerves to brace, Urges the sportsman to the chase.

Do we pursue the timid hare, As trembling o'er the lawn she bounds? Still of her safety have we care, While seeming death her steps surrounds, We the defenceless creature spare, And instant stop the well-taught hounds.

For cruelty should ne'er disgrace The well-earn'd pleasure of the chase.

Do we pursue the subtle fox, Still let him breaks and rivers try, Through marshes wade, or climb the rocks, The deep-mouth'd hounds shall following fly; And while he every danger moeks, Unpitied shall the culprit die:

To quell his cruel, artful race Is labour worthy of the chase.

Return'd, with shaggy spoils well stored, To our convivial joys at night, We toast, and first our country's lord, Anxious who most shall do him right; The fair next crowns the social board, Britons should love as well as fight,

For he who slights the tender race, Is held unworthy of the chase.