The Find

Yon sound's neither sheep-bell nor bark, They're running-they're running, Go hark! The sport may be lost by a moment's delay; So whip up the puppies and scurry away. Dash down through the cover by dingle and dell, There's a gate at the bottom-I know it full well; And they're running-they're running, Go hark! They're running-they're running, Go hark! One fence and we're out of the park; Sit down in your saddles and race at the brook, Then smash at the bullfinch; no time for a look; Leave cravens and skirters to dangle behind; He's away for the moors in the teeth of the wind, And they're running-they're running, Go hark! They're running-they're running, Go hark! Let them run on and run till it's dark! Well with them we are, and well with them we'll be, While there's wind in our horses and daylight to see: Then shog along homeward, chat over the fight, And hear in our dreams the sweet music all night Of-They're running-they're running, Go hark! Eversley, 1856.