Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SPORTING WITHOUT A LICENSE, by HORACE SMITH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SPORTING WITHOUT A LICENSE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: There's a charm when spring is young
Last Line: What charm of life is wanting?
Alternate Author Name(s): Smith, Horatio
Subject(s): Charm; Death; Hunting; Singing & Singers; Sports; Spring; Dead, The; Hunters


THERE'S a charm when Spring is young,
And comes laughing on the breeze,
When each leaflet has a tongue,
That is lisping in the trees,
When morn is fair and the sunny air
With chime of beaks is ringing,
Through fields to rove with her we love,
And listen to their singing.

The sportsman finds a zest,
Which all others can outvie,
With his lightning to arrest
Pheasants whirring through the sky;
With dog and gun from dawn of sun
Till purple evening hovers,
O'er field and fen, and hill and glen,
The happiest of rovers.

The hunter loves to dash
Through the horn-resounding woods,
Or plunge with fearless splash
Into intercepting floods;
O'er gap and gate he leaps elate,
The vaulting stag to follow,
And at the death has scarcely breath
To give the whoop and hallo!

By the river's margin dank,
With the weeds and rushes mixed,
Like a statue on a bank,
See the patient angler fixed!
A summer's day he whiles away
Without fatigue or sorrow,
And if the fish should baulk his wish,
He comes again to-morrow.

In air let pheasants range,
'Tis to me a glorious sight,
Which no fire of mine shall change
Into grovelling blood and night;
I am no hound, to pant and bound
Behind a stag that's flying;
Nor can I hook a trout from brook,
On grass to watch its dying.

And yet no sportsman keen
Can sweeter pastime ply,
Or enjoy the rural scene
With more ecstacy than I:
There's not a view, a form, a hue,
In earth, or air, or ocean,
That does not fill my heart, and thrill
My bosom with emotion.

O clouds that paint the air!
O fountains, fields, and groves!
Lights, sounds, and odours rare,
Which my yearning spirit loves!
While thus I feel, and only steal
From visions so enchanting,
In tuneful lays to sing your praise,
What charm of life is wanting?





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