To some this rich and multifarious world Is void without the chase: poor Reynard's scent Is the prime smell beneath the firmament, And all besides is into Limbo hurl'd; To-day will be the first meet of the hounds; The wind blows south, and, in the early dark, The squire sits gazing o'er his dusky park, While, in his ears, the horn already sounds; Yon furzy levels harbour all his hopes, No other field of glory ranks with them; Fair Athens and divine Jerusalem Are moving to the Dawn with Hunter's Copse, And the Home-cover; but the squire ignores All fame, that mounts not at his kennel-doors. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JENNY WI' THE AIRN TEETH by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE RECRUITING SERGEANT; A MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT: AIR by ISAAC BICKERSTAFFE A LOVE IDYLL by ANNA CORNELIA BOWEN TO THE MARQUIS LA FAYETTE by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD ON MR. CHURCHILL'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY (NOVEMBER 30, 1944) by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB THE APE AND THE FOX, ON THE FRUITS OF GREEDINESS AND CREDULITY by JOHN BYROM |