* * * * * The fox sneaked down by the cover side (With his ears flexed back) as a snake would glide; He took the ditch at the cover-end, He hugged the ditch as his only friend. The blackbird cock with the golden beak Got out of his way with a jabbering shriek, And the shriek told Tom on the raking bay That for eighteenpence he was gone away. * * * * * He ran in the hedge in the triple growth Of bramble and hawthorn, glad of both, Till a couple of fields were past, and then Came the living death of the dread of men. * * * * * Then, as he listened, he heard a “Hoy!” Tom Dansey’s horn and “Awa-wa-woy!” Then all hounds crying with all their forces, Then a thundering down of seventy horses. Robin Dawe’s horn and halloos of “Hey Hark Hollar, Hoik!” and “Gone away!” “Hark Hollar Hoik!” and a smack of the whip. A yelp as a tail hound caught the clip. “Hark Hollar, Hark Hollar!” then Robin made Pip go crash through the cut and laid. Hounds were over and on his line With a head like bees upon Tipple Tine. The sound of the nearness sent a flood Of terror of death through the fox’s blood. He upped his brush and he cocked his nose, And he went upwind as a racer goes. * * * * * Bold Robin Dawe was over first, Cheering his hounds on at the burst; The field were spurring to be in it. “Hold hard, sirs, give them half a minute,” Came from Sir Peter on his white. The hounds went romping with delight Over the grass and got together, The tail hounds galloped hell-for-leather After the pack at Myngs’s yell. A cry like every kind of bell Rang from these rompers as they raced. * * * * * The riders, thrusting to be placed, Jammed down their hats and shook their horses; The hounds romped past with all their forces, They crashed into the blackthorn fence. The scent was heavy on their sense, So hot, it seemed the living thing, It made the blood within them sing; Gusts of it made their hackles rise, Hot gulps of it were agonies Of joy, and thirst for blood and passion. “Forrard!” cried Robin, “that’s the fashion.” He raced beside his pack to cheer. The field’s noise died upon his ear, A faint horn, far behind, blew thin In cover, lest some hound were in. Then instantly the great grass rise Shut field and cover from his eyes, He and his racers were alone. “A dead fox or a broken bone.” Said Robin, peering for his prey. * * * * *