The sky was cloudless overhead, And just alive with larks asinging; And in a twinkling I was swinging Across the windy hills, lighthearted. A kestrel at my footstep started, Just pouncing on a frightened mouse, And hung o'er head with wings a-hover; Through rustling heath an adder darted: A hundred rabbits bobbed to cover: A weasel, sleek and rusty-red, Popped out of sight as quick as winking: I saw a grizzled vixen slinking Behind a clucking brood of grouse That rose and cackled at my coming: And all about my way were flying The peewit, with their slow wings creaking; And little jack-snipe darted, drumming: And now and then a golden plover Or redshank piped with reedy whistle. But never shaken bent or thistle Betrayed the quarry I was seeking; And not an instant, anywhere Did I clap eyes upon a hare. So, travelling still, the twilight caught me; And as I stumbled on, I muttered: 'A deal of luck the hare has brought me! The wind and I must spend together A hungry night among the heather. If I'd her here ...' And as I uttered, I tripped, and heard a frightened squeal; And dropped my hands in time to feel The hare just bolting 'twixt my feet. She slipped my clutch: and I stood there And cursed that devil-littered hare, That left me stranded in the dark In that wide waste of quaggy peat Beneath black night without a spark: When, looking up, I saw a flare Upon a far-off hill, and said: 'By God, the heather is afire! It's mischief at this time of year ...' And then, as one bright flame shot higher, And booths and vans stood out quite clear, My wits came back into my head; And I remembered Brough Hill Fair. And as I stumbled towards the glare I knew the sudden kindling meant The Fair was over for the day; And all the cattle-folk away; And gipsy folk and tinkers now Were lighting supper-fires without Each caravan and booth and tent. And as I climbed the stiff hill-brow I quite forgot my lucky hare. I'd something else to think about: For well I knew there's broken meat For empty bellies after fair-time; And looked to have a royal rare time With something rich and prime to eat; And then to lie and toast my feet All night beside the biggest fire. But, even as I neared the first, A pleasant whiff of stewing burst From out a smoking pot a-bubble: And as I stopped behind the folk Who sprawled around, and watched it seething, A woman heard my eager breathing, And, turning, caught my hungry eye: And called out to me: 'Draw in nigher, Unless you find it too much trouble; Or you've a nose for better fare, And go to supper with the Squire ... You've got the hungry parson's air!' And all looked up, and took the joke, As I dropped gladly to the ground Among them, where they all lay gazing Upon the bubbling and the blazing. My eyes were dazzled by the fire At first; and then I glanced around; And in those swarthy, fire-lit faces-- Though drowsing in the glare and heat And snuffing the warm savour in, Dead-certain of their fill of meat--