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.