The Fox-Chace, VI

Hither the hounds have bent their way, And hither come the sportsmen gay: Sure such a sight was never seen, At tournament, or listed green. The neighing steeds were seen to prance, As through the copse-wood green they came: The sounding whip displaced the lance, And sport has banished feudal flame. In every face a smile of joy, From titled peer, to huntsman-boy; In every eye a flash of fire; A flash of hope, but not of ire: In every heart joy’s transport bounds, As into cover dash the hounds: And in they dash with such a clang, That Norham’s empty castle rang: And every bush in tremor shook, And every sapling waved on high; Each horseman gazed with eager look, Or listened for the joyous cry: And sideways on their steeds they sat, With side-placed cap, or side-placed hat.