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TUFTS UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES 
 
 3 9090 014 556 134 
 
 Webster Family Library of Veterinary Mediar 
 
 Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine si 
 
 Tufts University 
 
 200 Westboro Road 
 
 North Grafton, MA 01536 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
BY 
 
 JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 Gallipoli 
 
 Right Royal 
 
 The Faithful 
 
 The Locked Chest 
 
 Lost Endeavor 
 
 Selected Poems 
 
 Captain Margaret 
 
 A Mainsail Haul 
 
 The Old Front Line 
 
 Multitude and Solitude 
 
 The Daffodil Fields 
 
 Enslaved and Other Poems 
 
 Collected Poems and Plays 
 
 The War and the Future 
 
 Salt-Water Poems and Ballads 
 
 Good Friday and Other Poems 
 
 The Tragedy of Pompey the Great 
 
 Lollingdon Downs and Other Poems 
 
 Philip the King and Other Poems 
 
 The Tragedy of Nan and Other Plays 
 
 The Story of a Round-House and Other Poems 
 
 The Everlasting Mercy and the Widow of Bye Street 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 WITH SIXTEEN PLATES BY 
 
 G. D. ARMOUR 
 
 AND 
 MANY ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 CARTON MOOREPARK 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1921 
 
 AH rights reserved 
 
COPTRIGHT, 1919 AND 1920. 
 
 By JOHN MASEFIELD. 
 
 New illustrated edition. October, 1920. 
 
 New Edition with illustrations by 
 
 G. D. Armour and Carton Moorepark — 1921, 
 
 PRINTED IN UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 I HAVE been asked to write why I wrote this poem of "Reynard 
 the Fox." As a man grows older, Hfe becomes more interesting 
 but less easy to know; for, late in life, even the strongest yields 
 to the habit of his compartment. When he cannot range through 
 all society, from the court to the gutter, a man must go where 
 all society meets, as at the Pilgrimage, the Festival or the Game. 
 Here in England the Game is both a festival and an occasion of 
 pilgrimage. A man wanting to set down a picture of the society 
 of England will find his models at the games. 
 
 What are the English games } The man's game is Association 
 football ; the woman's game, perhaps, hockey or lacrosse. Golf 
 I regard more as a symptom of a happy marriage than a game. 
 Cricket, which was once widely popular among both sexes has lost 
 its hold, except among the young. The worst of all these games 
 is that few can play them at a time. 
 
 But in the English country, during the autumn, winter and 
 early spring of each year, the main sport is fox hunting, which 
 is not like cricket or football, a game for a few and a spectacle 
 for many, but something in which all who come may take a part, 
 whether rich or poor, mounted or on foot. It is a sport loved and 
 followed by both sexes, all ages and all classes. At a fox hunt, 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 and nowhere else in England, except perhaps at a funeral, can 
 you see the whole of the land's society brought together, focussed 
 for the observer, as the Canterbury pilgrims were for Chaucer. 
 
 This fact made the subject attractive. The fox hunt gave an 
 opportunity for a picture or pictures of the members of an English 
 community. 
 
 Then to all Englishmen who have lived in a hunting country, 
 hunting is in the blood, and the mind is full of it. It is the most 
 beautiful and the most stirring sight to be seen in England. In 
 the ports, as at Falmouth, there are ships under sail, under way, 
 coming or going, beautiful unspeakably. In the country, espe- 
 cially on the great fields on the lower slopes of the Downland, the 
 teams of the ploughmen may be seen bowing forward on a sky- 
 line, and this sight can never fail to move one by its majesty of 
 beauty. But in neither of these sights of beauty is there the 
 bright colour and swift excitement of the hunt, nor the thrill of 
 the horn, and the cry of the hounds ringing into the elements of 
 the soul. Something in the hunt wakens memories hidden in the 
 marrow, racial memories, of when one hunted for the tribe, animal 
 memories, perhaps, of when one hunted with the pack, or was 
 hunted. 
 
 Hunting has always been popular here in England. In ancient 
 times it was necessary. Wolves, wild boar, foxes and deer had 
 to be kept down. To hunt was then the social duty of the mounted 
 man, when he was not engaged in war. It was also the opportunity 
 of all other members of the community to have a good time in 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 the open, with a feast or a new fur at the end, to crown the 
 pleasure. 
 
 Since arms of precision were made, hunting on horseback with 
 hounds has perhaps been unnecessary everywhere, but it is not 
 easy to end a pleasure rooted in the instincts of men. Hunting 
 has continued, and probably will continue, in this country and 
 in Ireland. It is rapidly becoming a national sport in the United 
 States. 
 
 Some have written, that hunting is the sport of the wealthy 
 man. Some wealthy men hunt, no doubt, but they are not the 
 backbone of the sport, so much as those who love and use horses. 
 Parts of this country, of Ireland and of the United States are more 
 than ordinarily good pasture, fitted for the breeding of horses, 
 beyond most other places in the world. Hardly anywhere else 
 is the climate so equable, the soil so right for the feet of colts and 
 the grass so good. Where these conditions exist, men will breed 
 horses and use them. Men who breed good horses will ride, 
 jump and test them, and will invent means of riding, jumping 
 and testing them, the steeplechase, the circus, the contests at 
 fairs and shows, the point-to-point meeting, and they will preserve, 
 if possible, any otherwise dying sport which offers such means. 
 
 I have mentioned several reasons why fox hunting should be 
 popular : (a) that it is a social business, at which the whole com- 
 munity may and does attend in vast numbers in a pleasant mood of 
 goodwill, good humour and equality, and during which all may 
 go anywhere, into ground otherwise shut to them ; {b) that it is 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 done in the winter, at a season when other social gatherings are 
 difficult, and in country districts where no buildings, except the 
 churches, could contain the numbers assembled ; (c) that it is 
 most beautiful to watch, so beautiful that perhaps very few of 
 the acts of men can be so lovely to watch nor so exhilarating. 
 The only thing to be compared with it, in this country, is the 
 sword dance, the old heroical dancing of the young men, still 
 practised, in all its splendour of wild beauty, in some country places ; 
 id) that we are a horse-loving people who have loved horses as 
 we have loved the sea, and have made, in the course of genera- 
 tions, a breed of horse, second to none in the world, for beauty 
 and speed. 
 
 But besides all these reasons, there is another that brings many 
 out hunting. This is the delight in hunting, in the working of 
 hounds, by themselves, or with the huntsmen, to find and kill 
 their fox. Though many men and women hunt in order to ride, 
 many still ride in order to hunt. 
 
 Perhaps this delight in hunting was more general in the mid- 
 eighteenth century, when hounds were much slower than at 
 present. Then, the hunt was indeed a test of hounds and hunts- 
 man. The fox was not run down but hunted down. The great 
 run then was that in which hounds and huntsman kept to their 
 fox. The great run now is perhaps that in which some few riders 
 keep with the hounds. 
 
 The ideal run of 1750 might have been described thus : — 
 
 "Being in the current of Writing, I cannot but acquaint your 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 Lorp of ye great Hunt there was, this Tuesday last there was a 
 a Week. Sure so great a day has not been seen here since The 
 Day your Lorp's Father broke his Collar Bone at ye Park Wall. 
 As Milton says : — 
 
 "Well have we speeded, and o'er Hill and Dale 
 Forest and Field and Flood . . . 
 As far as Indus east, Euphrates west." 
 
 "We had but dismle Weather of it, and so cold, as made Sir 
 Harry observe, that it was an ill wind blew no-one any good. 
 We met at ye Tailings. I had out my brown Horse. There was 
 present Sir Anthony Smoaker ; Mr. Jarvis of Copse Stile ; William 
 Travis; John Hawbuck; your Lorp's Friend, Dick Fancowe, and 
 two of ye Red Coats from ye Barracks. Ye fair Sex was dis- 
 mayed, it was said, by ye rudeness of ye Elements; they did not 
 venture it. 
 
 "On coming to draw Tailings Wood, Glider spoke to it, and 
 Tom viewed him away for the Valley, being the old Dog Fox, 
 with the white Mask, that beat us at Fubb's Field, the day your 
 Lorp road Bluebell. 
 
 "Now spoke the chearful Horn; and tuneful Hounds 
 Echoed, and Red Coats gallopped ; stirring Scean, 
 Rude Health and Manly Wit together strive. 
 
 "We went with the extream of Violence from Tailings Wood 
 to ye small Coppice at Nap Hill where a Fellow put him from his 
 Point, which gave Occasion to Sir Anthony to correct him. Ye 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 little magpie Hound made it out in ye bog at ye back of ye Copy- 
 pice, when again Hounds went at head through Long Stone Pas- 
 tures as far as Tainton. Here we was delayed in ye Dear Park, 
 the effluvia of ye Dear being extream strong and doubtless puzzling 
 to the Noses of ye Hounds. And here I cannot but remark the 
 skill with which ye Hounds worked it out till they had hit it 
 o£F, a sight, as Mr. Jarvis remarked to me, worthy of the Admira- 
 tion of an antient Philosopher, and of the eloquence of a most 
 elegant Wit, or Poet. Leaving ye Dear Park, He made for Norton 
 Cross, which he left on his left Hand, as though deciding for ye 
 Hill. Crossing ye Hill, in Spite of ye Sheep, he was a little stag- 
 gered by his being run by one of ye Shepherd's Doggs, a part of 
 Creation that should not be tolerated, except in ye vision of ye 
 Poet, as in a Pastoral or so. Here Joe Phillips, our Huntsman, 
 made unavailing Casts, but by lifting to the Vineyard recovered 
 him, when Hounds run him to Cow's Crookham, on your Lorp's 
 Aston Estate. 
 
 "By this Time, your Lorp will understand our Distress. Dick 
 Fancowe was in ye Brook at Norton, Mr. Jarv'is' grey Horse had 
 cast a Shoe, and one of ye Red Coats had broak his Liver in falling 
 at a Fence. For a time we went about to recover him : — 
 
 "Now with attentive Nose the restless Hound 
 Endeavours on the Scent, now here, now there, 
 Scorning adulterat scents of lesser Prey. 
 Now gloomy care invades the Huntsman's Face; 
 And Sportsmen (jovial erst) on wear)' steeds 
 Sit pensive." 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 Here might well be seen the Advantages of a judicious Breeding in 
 Hounds, that neglects not the intellectual Part, but aims rather 
 at a complete Animal than alone at Sinews and Corporeal Struc- 
 ture. That Blood of the Old Berkshire Glorious, which your 
 Lorp's Father was wont to observe, was what he most stood by, 
 next to our Constitution and the Protestant Succession, here 
 stood us in good stead, for it was to Glorious ye Ninth, as well 
 as to Growler and Glider (all of ye same royal strain) that we 
 was Indebted to ye happy Conclusion. They pushed him out of 
 ye Stubbings at Cow's Crookham, where it seems he had taken 
 Refuge in the Hollow of a decayed Tree. We chac't him thence 
 upon ye Grass to Shepherd's Hey. Here he began to run short, 
 being not a little apprehensive, lest his Foes should triumph, and 
 snatch from him that Life, which he had so long nefariously 
 pampered. 
 
 On courtly Cock with all his household Train 
 Of Hens obsequious, by the Hen VV'ife mourned. 
 
 "The Sun, coming out from among ye Clouds, where he had been 
 too long hid, made (as was elegantly pretended by Sir Anthony), a 
 Brightness, animating indeed to us, who carried the Sword of 
 Justice, but, to the Criminal of our Pursuit, infinitely distressing. 
 Then had your Lorp seen the gay Ardor of the Pack, as they came 
 to the View, which they did about Stonepits, your Lorp would 
 have said with the late elegant Poet : 
 
 "Now o'er the glittering grass the sinewy Hound 
 Shakes from his Feet the Dew and makes ye Woods resound." 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 "To be brief, we killed in the Back Yard of ye Rummer and Glass 
 after two and three quarters Hours of a Hunt such as (all are 
 agreed) is not lightly to be parallelled. There was present at 
 ye Death, beside Joe Phillips and Tom, Sir A. Smoaker, Mr. Wm. 
 Travis and myself, all so extream distresst, Men and Beasts, that 
 it was observed, it was a Alarvel ye Horses were not dead. Such 
 an Hunt, it was agreed, should be celebrated by an annual Dinner, 
 at which the Toast of ye Chase might be rendered more than 
 ordinary. Ye Hunt was upwards of Fifteen Miles in Length, and 
 hath been the Subject of a Song, by a Member of Ye Hunt, 
 which, as it would take long to transcribe, I forbear, hoping that 
 we may sing it to your Lorp before (as ye Poet says) 
 
 "Ye vixen hath laid up her Cubs 
 In snuggest Cave secure, when balmy Spring 
 Wakens ye Meadows." 
 
 "But to pass now from Celestial Pleasures to Worldly Cares, I 
 have to acquaint your Lorp that your Lorp's Sister's Son, Mr. 
 Parracombe, hath been killed by a Fall from his Horse, after 
 Dinner with some Gentlemen, his particular Friends, an Affliction 
 indeed great, humanly regarded, were it not also considered, how 
 much happier his Lot must be, than in this Vale of Tears, etc. 
 Ye Young Hounds thrive apace, and 't is thought the forward 
 Season will be very favourable for their future Prey. I am, your 
 Lorp's most obedient, Charles Cothill." 
 
 Perhaps the ideal run of the present time would be described 
 as follows : - 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 "A large field attended the Templecombe on Tuesday last at 
 the popular meet at Heydigates. Will Mynors, late of the Par- 
 ratts, carried the horn, in place of Tom Carling, now with 
 Mr. Fletchers. A little time was spent in running through the 
 shrubberies in the garden at Heydigates and then the word was 
 given for the Cantlows. Will had no sooner put hounds into 
 this famous cover than the dog pack proclaimed the joyous news. 
 The fox, a traveller, was at once viewed away for the Three Oaks, 
 across the rather heavy going of the pasture land. Coming to 
 the Knock Brook, he swam it near Parson's Pleasure, going at 
 a pace that let the knowing ones know that they were in for some- 
 thing out of the common. Keeping Snib's Farm on his right, he 
 ran dead straight for Callow's Wood, where some woodmen with 
 their teams disturbed him. Swinging to his left, he went up the 
 hill, through Bloody Lane, as though towards Dinsmore, but was 
 again deflected by woodmen. Turning down the hill, he ran 
 for the valley, passing Enderton Schoolhouse, the scholars of 
 which were much cheered by the near prospect of the hunt. It 
 was now evident that he was going for the Downs. Some of 
 the less daring began to express the hope that he might be headed. 
 
 "Scent from the first was burning and the pace a cracker. 
 After leaving Enderton he made straight for the Danesway, past 
 Snub's Titch and the Curlews, the green meadows of the pasture 
 being sprinkled for miles with the relics of the field. He crossed 
 the Roman Road at Orm's Oak and at once entered the Danes- 
 way, going at a pace which all thought could not last. 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 "At the summit of the Danesway, known as the Gallows Point, 
 hounds were brought to their noses, owing to the crossing of the 
 line by sheep. A man working nearby was able to give the line 
 and Will, lifting beyond the Lynchets, at once hit him off, and 
 the hounds resumed their rush. From this point, they went almost 
 exactly straight from the head of the Danesway to the fir copse 
 by Arthur's Table. All this part of the run being across a rolling 
 grass land, was at top speed, such as no horse could live with. 
 At Arthur's Table, he was put from his earth by shooters who 
 were netting the warren. As he could not get through them nor 
 across the highway, then busy with traffic, He doubled down across 
 the Starvings, where Will, the only man up at this point, although 
 now three hundred yards behind hounds, caught sight of him on 
 the opposite slope, romping away from hounds as though he would 
 never grow old. On coming to the level, past Spinney's End, 
 some of those who had been left at the Lynchets were able to 
 rejoin, but were soon again cast out by the extreme violence of 
 the going, which continued back across the Downs on a line ob- 
 liquely parallel with his former track though a mile further to the 
 south. It was supposed that he was going for the main earth 
 in Bloody Acre Copse. Some workers in the strip at the edge of 
 the copse headed him from this point. He swung left-handed past 
 Staves acre, and so down to the valley by the shelving ground 
 near Monk's Charwell. Here, for some unaccountable reason, 
 the scent, which had been breast high, became catchy, and hounds 
 lost their fox in the Osier cars at Charwell Springs. Later in the 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 afternoon, while jogging home, a second fox was chopped in Mr. 
 Parsloe's cover at Prince's Charwell. Hounds then went home. 
 
 "The run from the Cantlows was not remarkable for any quality 
 of hunting, but extremely so for pace and length. The distance 
 run, from Cantlows Wood to the Osiers cannot have been less than 
 thirteen miles, most of it indeed on the best going in the world, 
 but at a racing pace, with nothing that can be called a check, 
 the whole way. Some wished that the hounds might have been 
 rewarded and others that Will Mynors might have crowned his 
 opening gallop with a kill, but the general feeling was one of 
 satisfaction that so game a fox escaped." 
 
 My own interest in fox hunting began at a very early age. 
 I was born in a good hunting country, partly woodland, partly 
 pasture. My home, during my first seven years, was within 
 half a mile of the kennels. I saw hounds on most days of my life. 
 Hounds and hunting filled my imagination. I saw many meets, 
 each as romantic as a circus. The huntsman and whipper-in 
 seemed, then, to be the greatest men in the world, and those 
 mild slaves, the hounds, the loveliest animals. 
 
 Often, as a little child, I saw and heard hounds hunting in and 
 near a covert within sight of my old home. Once, when I was, 
 perhaps, five years old, the fox was hunted into our garden, and 
 those glorious beings in scarlet, as well as the hounds, were all 
 about my lairs, like visitants from Paradise. The fox, on this 
 occasion, went through a woodshed and escaped. 
 
 Later in my childhood, though I lived less near to the kennels, 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 I was still within a mile of them, and saw hounds frequently at 
 all seasons. In that hunting country, hunting was one of the 
 interests of life; everybody knew about it, loved, followed, 
 watched and discussed it. I went to many meets, and followed 
 many hunts on foot. Each of these occasions is now distinct in 
 my mind, with the colour and intensity of beauty. I saw many 
 foxes starting off upon their runs, with the hounds close behind 
 them. It was then that I learned to admire the ease and beauty 
 of the speed of the fresh fox. That leisurely hurry, which romps 
 away from the hardest trained and swiftest fox hounds without a 
 visible effort, as though the hounds were weighted with lead, 
 is the most lovely motion I have seen in an animal. 
 
 No fox was the original of my Reynard, but as I was much in 
 the woods as a boy I saw foxes fairly often, considering that they 
 are night-moving animals. Their grace, beauty, cleverness, and 
 secrecy always thrilled me. Then that kind of grin which the 
 mask wears made me credit them with an almost human humour. 
 I thought the fox a merry devil, though a bloody one. Then he 
 is one against many, who keeps his end up, and lives, often snugly, 
 in spite of the world. The pirate and the nightrider are nothing 
 to the fox, for romance and danger. This way of life of his makes 
 it difficult to observe him in a free state at close quarters. 
 
 Once in the early spring in the very early morning, I saw a 
 vixen playing with her cubs in the open space below a beech tree. 
 Once I came upon a big dog-fox in a wheel-wright's yard, and 
 watched him from within a few paces for some minutes. Twice 
 
INTRODUCTION xvil 
 
 I have watched half-grown cubs stalking rabbits. Twice out hunt- 
 ing, the fox has broken cover within three yards of me. These are 
 the only free foxes which I have seen at close quarters. Foxes 
 are night-moving animals. To know them well one should have 
 cat's eyes and foxes' habits. By the imagination alone can men 
 know foxes. 
 
 When I was about halfway through my poem, I found a dead 
 dog-fox in a field near Cumnor Hurst. He was a fine full-grown 
 fox in perfect condition ; he must have picked up poison, for he 
 had not been hunted, nor shot. On the pads of this dead fox, I 
 noticed for the first time, the length and strength of a fox's claws. 
 
 Some have asked, whether the Ghost Heath Run is founded on 
 any recorded run of any real Hunt. It is not. It is an imaginary 
 run, in a country made up of many different pieces of country, 
 some of them real, some of them imaginary. These real and 
 imaginary fields, woods and brooks are taken as they exist, from 
 Berkshire, where the fox lives, from Herefordshire where he was 
 found, from Trapalanda, Gloucestershire, Buckinghamshire, Here- 
 fordshire, Worcestershire and Berkshire, where he ran, from Trap- 
 alanda, where he nearly died, and from a wild and beautiful 
 corner in Berkshire where he rests from his run. 
 
 Some have asked when the poem was written. It was written 
 between January i and May 20, 1919. 
 
 Some have asked, whether hunting will soon be abolished. 
 I cannot tell, but I think it unlikely. People do not willingly 
 resign their pleasures; men who breed horses will want to gallop 
 
xvlii INTRODUCTION 
 
 them across country; hunting is a pleasure, as well as an oppor- 
 tunity to gallop ; it is also an instinct in man. Some have thought 
 that if "small holdings," that is "produce gardens," intensively 
 cultivated, of about an acre apiece, became common, so that the 
 country became more rigidly enclosed than at present, hunting 
 would be made almost impossible. The small holding is generally 
 the property of the small farmer (like the French cultivateur) who 
 fences permanently with wire and cannot take down the wire 
 during the hunting season, as most English farmers do at present. 
 Small holdings will probably increase in number near towns, but 
 farmers seem agreed that they can never become the national 
 system of farming. The big farm, that can treat the great tract 
 with machines, seems likely to be the farm of the future. 
 
 Even if the small holdings system were to prevail, it would 
 hardly prevail over the sporting instincts of the race. Beauty 
 and delight are stronger than the will to work. I am pretty sure 
 that a pack of hounds, coming feathery by, at the heels of a whip's 
 horse, while the field takes station and the huntsman, drawing 
 his horn, prepares to hunt, would shake the resolve of most small 
 holders, digging in their lots with thrift, industry and self-control. 
 And then, if the huntsman were to blow his horn, and the hounds 
 to featheV on it and give tongue, and find, and go away at head, 
 I am pretty sure that most of the small holders of this race would 
 follow them. It is in this race to hunt. 
 
 I will conclude with a portrait of old Baldy Hill, the earth- 
 stopper, who in the darkness of the early morning gads about on 
 
INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 a pony, to "stop" or "put to" all earths, in which a hard-pressed 
 
 fox might hide. In the poem, he enters when the hunt is about 
 
 to start, but he is an important figure in a hunting community, 
 
 and deserves a portrait. He may come here, at the beginning, 
 
 for Baldy Hill is at the beginning of all fox hunts. He dates from 
 
 the beginning of Man. I have seen many a Baldy Hill in my life; 
 
 he never fails to give me the feeling that he is Primitive Man 
 
 survived. Primitive Man lived like that, in the woods, in the 
 
 darkness, outwitting the wild things, while the rain dripped, and 
 
 the owl cried, and the ghost came out from the grave. Baldy 
 
 Hill stole the last litter of the last she-wolf to cross them with the 
 
 King's hounds. He was in at the death of the last wild-boar. 
 
 Sometimes, in looking at him, I think that his ashen stake must 
 
 have a flint head, with which, on moony nights, he still creeps 
 
 out, to rouse, it may be, the mammoth in his secret valley, or 
 
 a sabretooth tiger, still caved in the woods. Life may and does 
 
 shoot out into exotic forms, which may and do flower and perish. 
 
 Perhaps when all the other forms of English life are gone, the 
 
 Baldy Hill form, the stock form, will abide, still striding, head 
 
 bent, with an ashen stake, after some wild thing, that has meat, 
 
 or fur, or is difficult or dangerous to tackle. 
 
 Old Baldy Hill, the game old cock. 
 
 Still wore knee-gaiters and a smock. 
 
 He bore a five foot ashen stick 
 
 All scarred and pilled from many a click 
 
 Beating in covert with his sons 
 
 To drive the pheasants to the guns. 
 
XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 His face was beaten by the weather 
 To wrinkled red like bellows leather 
 He had a cold clear hard blue eye. 
 His snares made many a rabbit die. 
 On moony nights he found it pleasant 
 To stare the woods for roosting pheasant 
 Up near the tree-trunk on the bough. 
 
 He never trod behind a plough. 
 He and his two sons got their food 
 From wild things in the field and wood, 
 By snares, by ferrets put in holes, 
 By ridding pasture-land of moles; 
 By keeping, beating, trapping, poaching 
 And spaniel-and-retriever-coaching. 
 
 He and his sons had special merits 
 
 In breeding and in handling ferrets 
 
 Full many a snaky hob and jill 
 
 Had bit the thumbs of Baldy Hill. 
 
 He had no beard, but long white hair. 
 
 He bent in gait. He used to wear 
 
 Flowers in his smock, gold-clocks and peasen ; 
 
 And spindle-fruit in hunting season. 
 
 I hope that he may Hve to wear spindle-fruit for many seasons 
 to come. Hunting maices more people happy than anything I 
 know. When people are happy together, I am quite certain 
 that they build up something eternal, something both beautiful 
 and divine, which weakens the power of all evil things upon this 
 life of men and women. 
 
COLOR PLATES 
 
 First colored plate Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 Second colored plate Il8 
 
 Third colored plate 210 
 
 Fourth colored plate 322 
 
 BLACK AND WHITE PLATES 
 
 rACING PAGE 
 
 First black and white plate . 18 
 
 Second black and white plate . 24 
 
 Third black and white plate 82 
 
 Fourth black and white plate . 90 
 
 Fifth black and white plate . 136 
 
 Sixth black and white plate 164 
 
 Seventh black and white plate 178 
 
 Eighth black and white plate 230 
 
 Ninth black and white plate 262 
 
 Tenth black and white plate 284 
 
 Eleventh black and white plate 316 
 
 Twelfth black and white plate 338 
 
PART I 
 
THE MEET 
 
REYNARD THE FOX, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE GHOST HEATH RUN 
 
 The meet was at "The Cock and Pye 
 By Charles and Martha Enderby," 
 The grey, three-hundred-year-old inn 
 Long since the haunt of Benjamin 
 The highwayman, who rode the bay. 
 The tavern fronts the coaching way, 
 The mail changed horses there of old. 
 It has a strip of grassy mould 
 In front of it, a broad green strip. 
 A trough, where horses' muzzles dip. 
 Stands opposite the tavern front, 
 
4 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 And there that morning came the hunt, 
 To fill that quiet width of road 
 As full of men as Framilode 
 Is full of sea when tide is in. 
 
 The stables were alive with din 
 
 From dawn until the time of meeting. 
 
 A pad-groom gave a cloth a beating, 
 
 Knocking the dust out with a stake. 
 
 Two men cleaned stalls with fork and rake. 
 
 And one went whistling to the pump. 
 
 The handle whined, ker-lump, ker-lump. 
 
 The water splashed into the pail. 
 
 And, as he went, it left a trail. 
 
 Lipped over on the yard's bricked paving. 
 
 Two grooms (sent on before) were shaving 
 
The stables were alive with din 
 From dawn until the time of meeting. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 There in the yard, at glasses propped 
 On jutting bricks ; they scraped and stropped, 
 And felt their chins and leaned and peered, 
 A woodland day was what they feared 
 (As second horsemen), shaving there. 
 Then, in the stalls where hunters were. 
 Straw rustled as the horses shifted, 
 The hayseeds ticked and haystraws drifted 
 From racks as horses tugged their feed. 
 Slow gulping sounds of steady greed 
 Came from each stall, and sometimes stampings. 
 Whinnies (at well-known steps) and rampings 
 To see the horse in the next stall. 
 
 Outside, the spangled cock did call 
 To scattering grain that Martha flung. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 And many a time a mop was wrung 
 By Susan ere the floor was clean. 
 The harness room, that busy scene, 
 Clinked and chinked from ostlers brightening 
 Rings and bits with dips of whitening, 
 Rubbing fox-flecks out of stirrups, 
 Dumbing buckles of their chirrups 
 By the touch of oily feathers. 
 Some, with stag's bones rubbed at leathers, 
 Brushed at saddle-flaps or hove 
 Saddle linings to the stove. 
 Blue smoke from strong tobacco drifted 
 Out of the yard, the passers snifft it. 
 Mixed with the strong ammonia flavour 
 Of horses' stables and the savour 
 Of saddle-paste and polish spirit 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Which put the gleam on flap and tirrit. 
 The grooms in shirts with roUed-up sleeves, 
 Belted by girths of coloured weaves, 
 Groomed the clipped hunters in their stalls. 
 One said, "My dad cured saddle galls. 
 He called it Doctor Barton's cure ; 
 Hog's lard and borax, laid on pure." 
 And others said, "Ge' back, my son," 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 "Stand over, girl; now, girl, ha' done." 
 "Now, boy, no snapping; gently. Crikes, 
 He gives a rare pinch when he likes." 
 "Drawn blood ? I thought he looked a biter." 
 "I give 'em all sweet spit of nitre 
 For that, myself: that sometimes cures." 
 "Now, Beauty, mind them feet of yours." 
 They groomed, and sissed with hissing notes 
 To keep the dust out of their throats. 
 
 There came again and yet again 
 The feed-box lid, the swish of grain. 
 Or Joe's boots stamping in the loft. 
 The hay-fork's stab and then the soft 
 Hay's scratching slither down the shoot. 
 Then with a thud some horse's foot 
 
lo REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Stamped, and the gulping munch again 
 Resumed its lippings at the grain. 
 
 The road outside the inn was quiet 
 
 Save for the poor, mad, restless pyat 
 
 Hopping his hanging wicker-cage. 
 
 No calmative of sleep or sage 
 
 Will cure the fever to be free. 
 
 He shook the wicker ceaselessly 
 
 Now up, now down, but never out 
 
 On wind-waves, being blown about, 
 
 Looking for dead things good to eat. 
 
 His cage was strewn with scattered wheat. 
 
 At ten o'clock, the Doctor's lad 
 Brought up his master's hunting pad 
 
REYNARD THE FOX II 
 
 And put him in a stall, and leaned 
 Against the stall, and sissed, and cleaned 
 The port and cannons of his curb. 
 He chewed a sprig of smelling herb. 
 He sometimes stopped, and spat, and chid 
 The silly things his master did. 
 
THE PLOUGH^IAN 
 
 13 
 
At twenty past, old Baldock strode 
 His ploughman's straddle down the road. 
 An old man with a gaunt, burnt face ; 
 His eyes rapt back on some far place, 
 Like some starved, half-mad saint in bliss 
 In God's world through the rags of this. 
 He leaned upon a stake of ash 
 Cut from a sapling : many a gash 
 Was in his old, full-skirted coat. 
 The twisted muscles in his throat 
 Moved, as he swallowed, like taut cord. 
 His oaken face was seamed and gored. 
 
 He halted by the inn and stared 
 
 15 
 
An old man with a gaunt, burnt face; 
 His eyes rapt back on some far place. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX \^ 
 
 On that far bliss, that place prepared 
 Beyond his eyes, beyond his mind. 
 
 Then Thomas Copp, of Cowfoot's Wynd, 
 Drove up ; and stopped to take a glass. 
 "I hope they'll gallop on my grass," 
 He said, "My little girl does sing 
 To see the red coats galloping. 
 It's good for grass, too, to be trodden 
 Except they poach it, where it's sodden." 
 Then Billy Waldrist, from the Lynn, 
 
 With Jockey Hill, from Pitts, came in 
 And had a sip of gin and stout 
 To help the jockey's sweatings out. 
 
 "Rare day for scent," the jockey said. 
 
18 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 A pony, like a feather bed 
 On four short sticks, took place aside. 
 The little girl who rode astride 
 Watched everything with eyes that glowed 
 With glory in the horse she rode. 
 
 At half-past ten, some lads on foot 
 
 Came to be beaters to a shoot 
 
 Of rabbits at the Warren Hill. 
 
 Rough sticks they had, and Hob and Jill, 
 
 Their ferrets, in a bag, and netting. 
 
 They talked of dinner-beer and betting ; 
 
 And jeered at those who stood around. 
 
 They rolled their dogs upon the ground 
 
 And teased them: "Rats," they cried; "go fetch." 
 
 "Go seek, good Roxer; 'z bite, good betch. 
 
•AN 1)1, 11 .MAN WI'IH A GAUNT, KURNT FACE, 
 HIS EYES RAPT BACK ON SOME FAR PLACE." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 19 
 
 What dinner-beer'U they give us, lad ? 
 Sex quarts the lot last year we had. 
 They'd ought to give us seven this. 
 Seek, Susan ; what a betch it is." 
 
THE CLERGYMAN 
 
 21 
 
A pommle cob came trotting up, 
 
 Round-bellied like a drlnking-cup, 
 
 Bearing on back a pommle man 
 
 Round-bellied like a drinking-can. 
 
 The clergyman from Condicote. 
 23 
 
24 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 His face was scarlet from his trot, 
 His white hair bobbed about his head 
 As halos do round clergy dead. 
 He asked Tom Copp, "How long to wait ?" 
 His loose mouth opened like a gate 
 To pass the wagons of his speech, 
 He had a mighty voice to preach, 
 Though indolent in other matters, 
 He let his children go in tatters. 
 
 His daughter Madge on foot, flushed-cheekt. 
 
 In broken hat and boots that leakt. 
 
 With bits of hay all over her. 
 
 Her plain face grinning at the stir 
 
 (A broad pale face, snub-nosed, with speckles 
 
 Of sandy eyebrows sprinkt with freckles) 
 

 
 IHREE MEN CAME RIUING IN A ROW. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 25 
 
 Came after him and stood apart 
 Beside the darling of her heart, 
 Miss Hattie Dyce from Baydon Dean ; 
 A big young fair one, chiselled clean, 
 Brow, chin, and nose, with great blue eyes, 
 All innocence and sweet surprise. 
 And golden hair piled coil on coil 
 Too beautiful for time to spoil. 
 They talked in undertones together 
 Not of the hunting, nor the weather. 
 Old Steven, from Scratch Steven Place 
 (A white beard and a rosy face), 
 Came next on his stringhalty grey, 
 "I've come to see the hounds away," 
 He said, "And ride a field or two. 
 We old have better things to do 
 
26 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Than breaking all our necks for fun." 
 He shone on people like the sun, 
 And on himself for shining so. 
 Three men came riding in a row : — 
 John Pyn, a bull-man, quick to strike, 
 Gross and blunt-headed like a shrike 
 Yet sweet-voiced as a piping flute ; 
 Tom See, the trainer, from the Toot, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 27 
 
 Red, with an angry, puzzled face 
 And mouth twitched upward out of place. 
 Sucking cheap grapes and spitting seeds ; 
 And Stone, of Bartle's Cattle Feeds, 
 A man whose bulk of flesh and bone 
 Made people call him Twenty Stone. 
 He was the man who stood a pull 
 At Tencombe with the Jersey bull 
 And brought the bull back to his stall. 
 
 Some children ranged the tavern-wall, 
 Sucking their thumbs and staring hard ; 
 Some grooms brought horses from the yard. 
 Jane Selbie said to Ellen Tranter, 
 "A lot on 'em come doggin', ant her ?" 
 "A lot on 'em," said Ellen, "look 
 
28 REYNARDTHEFOX 
 
 There'm Mister Gaunt of Water's Hook. 
 They say he" . . . (whispered). "Law," said Jane. 
 Gaunt flung his heel across the mane, 
 And sHthered from his horse and stamped. 
 "Boots tight," he said, "my feet are cramped." 
 
 A loose-shod horse came clicking clack ; 
 
 Nick Wolvesey on a hired hack 
 
 Came tittup, like a cup and ball. 
 
 One saw the sun, moon, stars, and all 
 
 The great green earth twixt him and saddle ; 
 
 Then Molly Wolvesey riding straddle, 
 
 Red as a rose, with eyes like sparks. 
 
 Two boys from college out for larks 
 
 Hunted bright Molly for a smile 
 
 But were not worth their quarry's while. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 29 
 
 Two eyeglassed gunners dressed in tweed 
 Came with a spaniel on a lead 
 And waited for a fellow gunner. 
 The parson's son, the famous runner, 
 Came dressed to follow hounds on foot. 
 His knees were red as yew tree root 
 From being bare, day in day out ; 
 He wore a blazer, and a clout 
 (His sweater's arms) tied round his neck. 
 His football shorts had many a speck 
 And splash of mud from many a fall 
 Got as he picked the slippery ball 
 Heeled out behind a breaking scrum. 
 He grinned at people, but was dumb, 
 Not like these lousy foreigners. 
 The otter-hounds and harriers 
 From Godstow to the Wye all knew him. 
 
THE PARSON 
 
 31 
 
And with him came the stock which grew him ■ 
 
 The parson and his sporting wife, 
 
 She was a stout one, full of life 
 
 With red, quick, kindly, manly face. 
 
 She held the knave, queen, king, and ace 
 
 In every hand she played with men. 
 
 She was no sister to the hen. 
 
 But fierce and minded to be queen. 
 
 She wore a coat and skirt of green, 
 
 Her waistcoat cut of bunting red, 
 
 Her tie pin was a fox's head. 
 
 The parson was a manly one, 
 
 His jolly eyes were bright with fun. 
 
 D 33 
 
34 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 His jolly mouth was well inclined 
 To cry aloud his jolly mind 
 To everyone, in jolly terms. 
 He did not talk of churchyard worms, 
 But of our privilege as dust 
 To box a lively bout with lust 
 Ere going to Heaven to rejoice. 
 He loved the sound of his own voice. 
 His talk was like a charge of horse ; 
 His build was all compact, for force. 
 Well-knit, well-made, well-coloured, eager, 
 He kept no Lent to make him meagre. 
 He loved his God, himself and man. 
 He never said "Life's wretched span; 
 This wicked world," in any sermon. 
 This body, that we feed the worm on, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 35 
 
 To him, was jovial stuff that thrilled. 
 
 He liked to see the foxes killed ; 
 
 But most he felt himself in clover 
 
 To hear "Hen left, hare right, cock over," 
 
 At woodside, when the leaves are brown. 
 
 Some grey cathedral in a town 
 
 Where drowsy bells toll out the time 
 
 To shaven closes sweet with lime, 
 
 And wall-flower roots drive out of the mortar 
 
 All summer on the Norman Dortar, 
 
 Was certain some day to be his. 
 
 Nor would a mitre go amiss 
 
 To him, because he governed well. 
 
 His voice was like the tenor bell 
 
 When services were said and sung. 
 
 And he had read in many a tongue, 
 
 Arabic, Hebrew, Spanish, Greek. 
 
"JILL AND JOAN 
 
 37 
 
Two bright young women, nothing meek, 
 
 Rode up on bicycles and propped 
 
 Their wheels in such wise that they dropped 
 
 To bring the parson's son to aid. 
 
 Their cycling suits were tailor-made, 
 
 Smart, mannish, pert, but feminine. 
 
 The colour and the zest of wine 
 
 Were in their presence and their bearing ; 
 
 Like spring, they brought the thought of pairing. 
 
 The parson's lady thought them pert. 
 
 And they could mock a man and flirt. 
 
 Do billiard tricks with corks and pennies. 
 
 Sing ragtime songs and win at tennis 
 
 The silver-cigarette-case-prize. 
 
 39 
 
40 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 They had good colour and bright eyes, 
 Bright hair, bright teeth and pretty skin. 
 On darkened stairways after dances, 
 Which many lads had longed to win. 
 Their reading was the last romances. 
 And they were dashing hockey players. 
 Men called them, "Jill and Joan, the slayers." 
 They were as bright as fresh sweet-peas. 
 
FARMER BENNETT 
 
 41 
 
Old Farmer Bennett followed these 
 Upon his big-boned savage black 
 Whose mule-teeth yellowed to bite back 
 Whatever came within his reach. 
 Old Bennett sat him like a leech. 
 
 43 
 
44 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 The grim old rider seemed to be 
 As hard about the mouth as he. 
 
 The beaters nudged each other's ribs 
 
 With "There he goes, his bloody Nibs. 
 
 He come on Joe and Anty Cop, 
 
 And beat 'em with his hunting crop 
 
 Like tho' they'd bin a sack of beans. 
 
 His pickers were a pack of queans, 
 
 And Joe and Anty took a couple, 
 
 He caught 'em there, and banged 'em supple. 
 
 Women and men, he didn't care 
 
 (He'd kill 'em some day, if he dare). 
 
 He beat the whole four nearly dead. 
 
 'I'll learn 'ee rabbit in my shed. 
 
 That's how my ricks get set afire.' 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 45 
 
 That's what he said, the bloody liar ; 
 Old oaf, I'd like to burn his ricks, 
 Th' old swine's too free with fists and sticks. 
 He keeps that Mrs. Jones himselve." 
 
 Just like an axehead on its helve 
 
 Old Bennett sat and watched the gathering. 
 
 He'd given many a man a lathering 
 
 In field or barn, and women, too. 
 
 His cold eye reached the women through 
 
 With comment, and the men with scorn. 
 
 He hated women gently born ; 
 
 He hated all beyond his grasp ; 
 
 For he was minded like the asp 
 
 That strikes whatever is not dust. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE 
 
 47 
 
Charles Copse, of Copse Hold Manor, thrust 
 
 Next into view. In face and limb 
 
 The beauty and the grace of him 
 
 Were like the golden age returned. 
 
 His grave eyes steadily discerned 
 
 The good in men and what was wise. 
 
 He had deep blue, mild-coloured eyes, 
 
 And shocks of harvest-coloured hair, 
 
 Still beautiful with youth. An air 
 
 Or power of kindness went about him ; 
 
 No heart of youth could ever doubt him 
 
 Or fail to follow where he led. 
 
 He was a genius, simply bred. 
 
 And quite unconscious of his power. 
 
 E 49 
 
50 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He was the very red rose flower 
 Of all that coloured countryside. 
 Gauchos had taught him how to ride. 
 He knew all arts, but practised most 
 The art of bettering flesh and ghost 
 In men and lads down in the mud. 
 He knew no class in flesh and blood. 
 He loved his kind. He spent some pith 
 Long since, relieving Ladysmith. 
 Many a horse he trotted tame. 
 Heading commandos from their aim, 
 In those old days upon the veldt. 
 
THE SQUIRE 
 
 SI 
 
An old bear in a scarlet pelt 
 Came next, old Squire Harridew, 
 His eyebrows gave a man the grue 
 So bushy and so fierce they were ; 
 He had a bitter tongue to swear. 
 A fierce, hot, hard, old, stupid squire, 
 
 S3 
 
54 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 With all his liver made of fire, 
 Small brain, great courage, mulish will. 
 The hearts in all his house stood still 
 When someone crossed the squire's path. 
 For he was terrible in wrath, 
 And smashed whatever came to hand. 
 Two things he failed to understand. 
 The foreigner and what was new. 
 
 His daughters, Carrie, Jane and Lu, 
 Rode with him, Carrie at his side. 
 His son, the ne'er-do-weel, had died 
 In Arizona, long before. 
 The Squire set the greatest store 
 By Carrie, youngest of the three. 
 And lovely to the blood was she ; 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 55 
 
 Blonde, with a face of blush and cream, 
 And eyes deep violet in their gleam. 
 Bright blue when quiet in repose. 
 She was a very golden rose. 
 And many a man when sunset came 
 Would see the manor windows flame. 
 And think, "My beauty's home is there." 
 Queen Helen had less golden hair, 
 Queen Cleopatra paler lips. 
 Queen Blanche's eyes were in eclipse, 
 By golden Carrie's glancing by. 
 She had a wit for mockery 
 And sang mild, pretty senseless songs 
 Of sunsets, Heav'n and lover's wrongs. 
 Sweet to the Squire when he had dined. 
 A rosebud need not have a mind. 
 
56 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 A lily is not sweet from learning. 
 Jane looked like a dark lantern, burning. 
 Outwardly dark, unkempt, uncouth, 
 But minded like the living truth, 
 A friend that nothing shook nor wearied. 
 She was not "Darling Jan'd," nor "dearie'd," 
 She was all prickles to the touch, 
 So sharp, that many feared to clutch, 
 So keen, that many thought her bitter. 
 She let the little sparrows twitter. 
 She had a hard ungracious way. 
 Her storm of hair was iron-grey, 
 And she was passionate in her heart 
 For women's souls that burn apart. 
 Just as her mother's had, with Squire. 
 She gave the sense of smouldering fire. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 57 
 
 She was not happy being a maid, 
 At home, with Squire, but she stayed 
 Enduring life, however bleak, 
 To guard her sisters who were weak. 
 And force a life for them from Squire. 
 And she had roused and stood his fire 
 A hundred times, and earned his hate, 
 To win those two a better state. 
 Long years before the Canon's son 
 Had cared for her, but he had gone 
 To Klondyke, to the mines, for gold, 
 To find, in some strange way untold 
 A foreign grave that no men knew. 
 
 No depth, nor beauty, was in Lu, 
 But charm and fun, for she was merry, 
 
58 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Round, sweet and little like a cherry, 
 With laughter like a robin's singing ; 
 She was not kittenlike and clinging, 
 But pert and arch and fond of flirting, 
 In mocking ways that were not hurting, 
 And merry ways that women pardoned. 
 Not being married yet she gardened. 
 She loved sweet music ; she would sing 
 Songs made before the German King 
 Made England German in her mind. 
 She sang "My lady is unkind," 
 "The Hunt is up," and those sweet things 
 Which Thomas Campion set to strings, 
 "Thrice toss," and "What," and "Where 
 are now?" 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 59 
 
 The next to come was Major Howe 
 Driv'n in a dog-cart by a groom. 
 The testy major was in fume 
 To find no hunter standing waiting ; 
 The groom who drove him caught a rating, 
 The groom who had the horse in stable, 
 Was damned in half the tongues of Babel. 
 The Major being hot and heady 
 When horse or dinner was not ready. 
 He was a lean, tough, liverish fellow. 
 With pale blue eyes (the whites pale yellow), 
 Mustache clipped toothbrush-wise, and jaws 
 Shaved bluish like old partridge claws. 
 When he had stripped his coat he made 
 A speckless presence for parade. 
 New pink, white cords, and glossy tops 
 
6o REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 New gloves, the newest thing in crops, 
 Worn with an air that well expressed 
 His sense that no one else was dressed. 
 
THE DOCTOR 
 
 6i 
 
Quick trotting after Major Howe 
 
 Came Doctor Frome of Quickemshow, 
 
 A smiling silent man whose brain 
 
 Knew all of every secret pain 
 
 In every man and woman there. 
 63 
 
64 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Their inmost lives were all laid bare 
 To him, because he touched their lives 
 When strong emotions sharp as knives 
 Brought out what sort of soul each was. 
 As secret as the graveyard grass 
 He was, as he had need to be. 
 At some time he had had to see 
 Each person there, sans clothes, sans mask, 
 Sans lying even, when to ask 
 Probed a tamed spirit into truth. 
 Richard, his son, a jolly youth 
 Rode with him, fresh from Thomas's, 
 As merry as a yearling is 
 In maytime in a clover patch. 
 He was a gallant chick to hatch 
 Big, brown and smiling, blithe and kind, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 65 
 
 With all his father's love of mind 
 And greater force to give it act. 
 To see him when the scrum was packt, 
 Heave, playing forward, was a sight. 
 His tackling was the crowd's delight 
 In many a danger close to goal. 
 The pride in the three quarter's soul 
 Dropped, like a wet rag, when he collared. 
 He was as steady as a bollard. 
 And gallant as a skysail yard. 
 He rode a chestnut mare which sparred. 
 In good St. Thomas' Hospital, 
 He was the crown imperial 
 Of all the scholars of his year. 
 
 The Harold lads, from Tencombe Weir, 
 Came all on foot in corduroys, 
 
66 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Poor widowed Mrs. Harold's boys, 
 Dick, Hal and Charles, whose father died. 
 (Will Masemore shot him in the side 
 By accident at Masemore Farm. 
 A hazel knocked Will Masemore's arm 
 In getting through a hedge ; his gun 
 Was not half-cocked, so it was done 
 And those three boys left fatherless.) 
 Their gaitered legs were in a mess 
 With good red mud from twenty ditches 
 Hal's face was plastered like his breeches, 
 Dick chewed a twig of juniper. 
 They kept at distance from the stir 
 Their loss had made them lads apart. 
 Next came the Colway's pony cart 
 From Coin St. Evelyn's with the party. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX dj 
 
 Hugh Colway jovial, bold and hearty, 
 And Polly Colway's brother, John 
 (Their horses had been both sent on) 
 And Polly Colway drove them there. 
 Poor pretty Polly Colway's hair. 
 The grey mare killed her at the brook 
 Down Seven Springs Mead at Water Hook, 
 Just one month later, poor sweet woman. 
 
THE SAILOR 
 
 69 
 
Her brother was a rat-faced Roman, 
 
 Lean, puckered, tight-skinned from the sea, 
 
 Commander in the Canace, 
 
 Able to drive a horse, or ship. 
 
 Or crew of men, without a whip 
 
 By will, as long as they could go. 
 
 His face would wrinkle, row on row. 
 
 From mouth to hair-roots when he laught 
 
 He looked ahead as though his craft 
 
 Were with him still, in dangerous channels. 
 
 He and Hugh Colway tossed their flannels 
 
 Into the pony-cart and mounted. 
 
 Six foiled attempts the watchers counted, 
 
 71 
 
72 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 The horses being bickering things, 
 That so much scariet made like kings, 
 Such sidling and such pawing and shifting. 
 
THE MERCtL\NT'S SON 
 
 73 
 
When Hugh was up his mare went drifting 
 
 Sidelong and feeling with her heels 
 
 For horses' legs and poshay wheels, 
 
 While lather creamed her neat dipt skin. 
 
 Hugh guessed her foibles with a grin. 
 
 He was a rich town-merchant's son, 
 
 A wise and kind man fond of fun. 
 
 Who loved to have a troop of friends 
 
 At Coin St. Eves for all week-ends. 
 
 And troops of children in for tea. 
 
 He gloried in a Christmas Tree. 
 
 And Polly was his heart's best treasure, 
 
 And Polly was a golden pleasure 
 
 To everyone, to see or hear. 
 
 75 
 
76 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Poor Polly's dying struck him queer, 
 He was a darkened man thereafter, 
 Cowed silent, he would wince at laughter 
 And be so gentle it was strange 
 Even to see. Life loves to change. 
 
 Now Coin St. Evelyn's hearths are cold 
 
 The shutters up, the hunters sold, 
 
 And green mould damps the locked front door. 
 
 But this was still a month before, 
 
 And Polly, golden in the chaise. 
 
 Still smiled, and there were golden days, 
 
 Still thirty days, for those dear lovers. 
 
SPORTSMAN 
 
 77 
 
The Riddens came, from Ocle Covers, 
 
 Bill Ridden riding Stormalong, 
 
 (By Tempest out of Love-me-long) 
 
 A proper handful of a horse. 
 
 That nothing but the Aintree course 
 
 Could bring to terms, save Bill perhaps. 
 
 All sport, from bloody war to craps, 
 
 Came well to Bill, that big-mouthed smiler ; 
 
 They nick-named him "the mug-beguiler," 
 
 For Billy lived too much with horses 
 
 In coper's yards and sharper's courses, 
 
 To lack the sharper-coper streak. 
 
 He did not turn the other cheek 
 
 When struck (as English Christians do), 
 
 79 
 
All sport, from bloody war to craps. 
 Came well to Bill, that big-mouthed smiler. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 8l 
 
 He boxed like a Whitechapel Jew, 
 And many a time his knuckles bled 
 Against a race-course-gipsy's head. 
 For "hit him first and argue later " 
 Was truth at Billy's alma mater, 
 Not love, not any bosh of love. 
 His hand was like a chamois glove 
 And riding was his chief delight. 
 He bred the chaser Chinese-white, 
 From Lilybud by Mandarin. 
 And when his mouth tucked corners in, 
 And scent was high and hounds were going, 
 He went across a field like snowing 
 And tackled anything that came. 
 
 His wife, Sal Ridden, was the same, 
 A loud, bold, blonde abundant mare, 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 With white horse teeth and stocks of hair, 
 (Like polished brass) and such a manner 
 It flaunted from her like a banner. 
 Her father was Tom See the trainer ; 
 She rode a lovely earth-disdainer 
 Which she and Billy wished to sell. 
 
 Behind them rode her daughter Bell, 
 A strange shy lovely girl whose face 
 
y 
 
 TACK.LEU ANYTHING THAT CAME." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 83 
 
 Was sweet with thought and proud with race, 
 And bright with joy at riding there. 
 She was as good as blowing air 
 But shy and difficult to know. 
 The kittens in the barley-mow, 
 The setter's toothless puppies sprawling, 
 The blackbird in the apple calling. 
 All knew her spirit more than we, 
 So delicate these maidens be 
 In loving lovely helpless things. 
 
 The Manor set, from Tencombe Rings, 
 
 Came, with two friends, a set of six. 
 
 Ed Manor with his cockerel chicks, 
 
 Nob, Cob and Bunny as they called them, 
 
 (God help the school or rule which galled them; 
 
 They carried head) and friends from town. 
 
84 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Ed Manor trained on Tencombe Down. 
 
 He once had been a famous bat, 
 
 He had that stroke, "the Manor-pat," 
 
 Which snicked the ball for three, past cover. 
 
 He once scored twenty in an over, 
 
 But now he cricketed no more. 
 
 He purpled in the face and swore 
 
 At all three sons, and trained, and told 
 
 Long tales of cricketing of old. 
 
 When he alone had saved his side. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 85 
 
 Drink made it doubtful if he lied, 
 Drink purpled him, he could not face 
 The fences now, nor go the pace 
 He brought his friends to meet ; no more. 
 
 His big son Nob, at whom he swore, 
 Swore back at him, for Nob was surly, 
 Tall, shifty, sullen-smiling, burly. 
 Quite fearless, built with such a jaw 
 That no man's rule could be his law 
 Nor any woman's son his master. 
 Boxing he relished. He could plaster 
 All those who boxed out Tencombe way. 
 A front tooth had been knocked away 
 Two days before, which put his mouth 
 A little to the east of south. 
 And put a venom in his laughter. 
 
86 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Cob was a lighter lad, but dafter ; 
 Just past eighteen, while Nob was twenty. 
 Nob had no nerves but Cob had plenty 
 So Cobby went where Nobby led. 
 He had no brains inside his head. 
 Was fearless, just like Nob, but put 
 Some clog of folly round his foot. 
 Where Nob put will of force or fraud ; 
 He spat aside and muttered Gawd 
 When vext ; he took to whiskey kindly 
 And loved and followed Nobby blindly. 
 And rode as in the saddle born. 
 
 Bun looked upon the two with scorn. 
 He was the youngest, and was wise. 
 He too was fair, with sullen eyes, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 87 
 
 He too (a year before) had had 
 A zest for going to the bad, 
 With Cob and Nob. He knew the joys 
 Of drinking with the stable-boys, 
 Or smoking while he filled his skin 
 With pints of Guinness dashed with gin 
 And Cobby yelled a bawdy ditty. 
 Or cutting Nobby for the kitty. 
 And damning peoples' eyes and guts. 
 Or drawing evening-church for sluts, 
 He knew them all and now was quit. 
 
 Sweet Polly Colway managed it. 
 
 And Bunny changed. He dropped his drink' 
 
 (The pleasant pit's seductive brink), 
 
 He started working in the stable. 
 
88 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 And well, for he was shrewd and able. 
 He left the doubtful female friends 
 Picked up at Evening-Service ends, 
 He gave up cards and swore no more. 
 Nob called him "the Reforming Whore," 
 "The Soul's Awakening," or "The Text," 
 Nob being always coarse when vext. 
 
 Ed Manor's friends were Hawke and Sladd, 
 
 Old college friends, the last he had. 
 
 Rare horsemen, but their nerves were shaken 
 
 By all the whiskey they had taken. 
 
 Hawke's hand was trembling on his rein. 
 
 His eyes were dead-blue like a vein. 
 
 His peaked sad face was touched with breeding. 
 
 His querulous mind was quaint from reading, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 89 
 
 His piping voice still quirked with fun. 
 Many a mad thing he had done, 
 Riding to hounds and going to races. 
 A glimmer of the gambler's graces, 
 Wit, courage, devil, touched his talk. 
 
 Sladd's big fat face was white as chalk. 
 His mind went wondering, swift yet solemn. 
 
90 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Twixt winning-post and betting column, 
 The weights and forms and likely colts. 
 He said "This road is full of jolts. 
 I shall be seasick riding here. 
 O damn last night with that liqueur." 
 
 Len Stokes rode up on Peterkin ; 
 He owned the Downs by Baydon Whin ; 
 And grazed some thousand sheep ; the boy 
 Grinned round at men with jolly joy 
 At being alive and being there. 
 His big round face and mop of hair 
 Shone, his great teeth shone in his grin. 
 The clean blood in his clear tanned skin 
 Ran mern.", and his great voice mocked 
 His young friends present till they rocked. 
 

 
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 "THE SHEEP FORMED LINE LIKE A TROOP OF HORSE; 
 THEV SWERVED, AS HE PASSED, TO FRONT HIS COURSE.' 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 91 
 
 Steer Harpit came from Rowell Hill, 
 A small, frail man, all heart and will, 
 A sailor as his voice betrayed. 
 He let his whip-thong droop and played 
 At snicking off the grass-blades with it. 
 John Hankerton, from Compton Lythitt, 
 Was there with Pity Hankerton, 
 And Mike, their good-for-little son. 
 Back, smiling, from his seventh job. 
 Joan Urch was there upon her cob. 
 Tom Sparsholt on his lanky grey. 
 John Restrop from Hope Goneaway. 
 And Vaughan, the big black handsome devil. 
 Loose-lipped with song and wine and revel 
 All rosy from his morning tub 
 
THE EXQUISITE 
 
 93 
 
The Godsdown tigress with her cub 
 (Lady and Tommy Crowmarsh) came. 
 The great eyes smouldered in the dame, 
 Wit glittered, too, which few men saw. 
 There was more beauty there than claw. 
 Tommy in bearing, horse and dress 
 Was black, fastidious, handsomeness, 
 Choice to his trimmed soul's fingertips. 
 Heredia's sonnets on his lips. 
 A line undrawn, a plate not bitten, 
 A stone uncut, a phrase unwritten, 
 That would be perfect, made his mind. 
 A choice pull, from a rare print, signed. 
 Was Tommy. He collected plate, 
 
 95 
 
The Godsdown Tigress with her cub 
 (Lady and Tommy Crowmarsh) came. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 (Old Sheffield) and he owned each state 
 Of all the Meryon Paris etchings. 
 
 Colonel Sir Button Budd of Fletchings 
 Was there ; Long Robert Thrupp was there, 
 (Three yards of him men said there were), 
 Long as the King of Prussia's fancy. 
 He rode the longlegged Necromancy, 
 A useless racehorse that could canter. 
 George Childrey with his jolly banter 
 Was there, Nick Childrey, too, come down 
 The night before from London town, 
 To hunt and have his lungs blown clean. 
 The Ilsley set from Tuttocks Green 
 Was there (old Henry Ilsley drove), 
 Carlotta Ilsley brought her love 
 
 97 
 
98 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 A flop-jowled broker from the city. 
 Men pitied her, for she was pretty. 
 
 Some grooms and second horsemen mustered. 
 A lot of men on foot were clustered 
 Round the inn-door, all busy drinking. 
 One heard the kissing glasses clinking 
 In passage as the tray was brought. 
 Two terriers (which they had there) fought 
 There on the green, a loud, wild whirl. 
 Bell stopped them like a gallant girl. 
 The hens behind the tavern clucked. 
 
THE SOLDIER 
 
 99 
 
Then on a horse which bit and bucked 
 (The half-broke four-year-old Marauder) 
 Came Minton-Price of th' Afghan border, 
 Lean, puckered, yellowed, knotted, scarred, 
 Tough as a hide-rope twisted hard. 
 
I02 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Tense tiger-sinew linit to bone. 
 Strange-wayed from having lived alone 
 With Kafir, Afghan and Beloosh 
 In stations frozen in the Koosh 
 Where nothing but the bullet sings. 
 His mind had conquered many things, 
 Painting, mechanics, physics, law, 
 White-hot, hand-beaten things to draw 
 Self-hammered from his own soul's stithy, 
 His speech was blacksmith-sparked and pithy. 
 Danger had been his brother bred ; 
 The stones had often been his bed 
 In bickers with the border-thieves. 
 
THE COUNTRY'S HOPE 
 
 103 
 
A chestnut mare with swerves and heaves 
 Came plunging, scattering all the crowd, 
 She tossed her head and laughed aloud 
 And bickered sideways past the meet. 
 From pricking ears to mincing feet 
 She was all tense with blood and quiver, 
 You saw her dipt hide twitch and shiver 
 Over her netted cords of veins. 
 She carried Cothill, of the Sleins ; 
 A tall, black, bright-eyed handsome lad. 
 Great power and great grace he had. 
 Men hoped the greatest things of him, 
 His grace made people think him slim. 
 But he was muscled like a horse 
 
 los 
 
I06 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 A sculptor would have wrought his torse 
 
 In bronze or marble for Apollo. 
 
 He loved to hurry like a swallow 
 
 For miles on miles of short-grassed sweet 
 
 Blue-harebelled downs where dewy feet 
 
 Of pure winds hurry ceaselessly. 
 
 He loved the downland like a sea, 
 
 The downland where the kestrels hover ; 
 
 The downland had him for a lover. 
 
 And every other thing he loved 
 
 In which a clean free spirit moved. 
 
 So beautiful, he was, so bright. 
 He looked to men like young delight 
 Gone courting April maidenhood, 
 That has the primrose in her blood, 
 He on his mincing lady mare. 
 
COUNTRYMEN 
 
 t07 
 
Ock Gurney and old Pete were there, 
 
 Riding their bonny cobs and swearing. 
 
 Ock's wife had giv'n them both a fairing, 
 
 A horse-rosette, red, white and blue. 
 
 Their cheeks were brown as any brew. 
 
 And every comer to the meet 
 109 
 
no REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Said "Hello, Ock," or "Morning, Pete; 
 Be you a going to a wedding ?" 
 "Why, noa," they said, "we'm going a bedding; 
 Now ben't us, uncle, ben't us, Ock ?" 
 Pete Gurney was a lusty cock 
 Turned sixty-three, but bright and hale, 
 A dairy-farmer in the vale. 
 Much like a robin in the face. 
 Much character in little space. 
 With little eyes like burning coal. 
 His mouth was like a slit or hole 
 In leather that was seamed and lined. 
 He had the russet-apple mind 
 That betters as the weather worsen. 
 He was a manly English person. 
 Kind to the core, brave, merry, true ; 
 
REYNARD THE FOX in 
 
 One grief he had, a grief still new, 
 That former Parson joined with Squire 
 In putting down the Playing Quire, 
 In church, and putting organ in. 
 "Ah, boys, that was a pious din 
 That Quire was ; a pious praise 
 The noise was that we used to raise ; 
 I and my serpent, George with his'n. 
 On Easter Day in He is Risen, 
 Or blessed Christmas in Venite ; 
 And how the trombone came in mighty, 
 In Alleluias from the heart. 
 Pious, for each man played his part. 
 Not like 'tis now." Thus he, still sore 
 For changes forty years before. 
 When all (that could) in time and tune. 
 
112 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Blew trumpets to the newe moon. 
 He was a bachelor, from choice. 
 He and his nephew farmed the Boyce 
 Prime pasture land for thirty cows. 
 Ock's wife, Selina Jane, kept house, 
 And jolly were the three together. 
 Ock had a face like summer weather, 
 A broad red sun, split by a smile. 
 He mopped his forehead all the while. 
 And said "By damn," and "Ben't us, Unk?" 
 His eyes were close and deeply sunk. 
 He cursed his hunter like a lover, 
 "Now blast your soul, my dear, give over. 
 Woa, now, my pretty, damn your eyes." 
 Like Pete he was of middle size, 
 Dean-oak-like, stuggy, strong in shoulder, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX .113 
 
 He stood a wrestle like a boulder, 
 He had a back for pitching hay. 
 His singing voice was like a bay. 
 In talk he had a sideways spit, 
 Each minute, to refresh his wit. 
 He cracked Brazil nuts with his teeth. 
 He challenged Cobbett of the Heath 
 (Weight-lifting champion) once, but lost. 
 Hunting was what he loved the most, 
 Next to his wife and Uncle Pete. 
 With beer to drink and cheese to eat, 
 And rain in May to fill the grasses, 
 This life was not a dream that passes 
 To Ock, but like the summer flower. 
 
THE HOUNDS 
 
 "S 
 
But now the clock had struck the hour, 
 
 And round the corner, down the road 
 
 The bob-bob-bobbing serpent flowed 
 
 With three black knobs upon its spine ; 
 
 Three bobbing black-caps in a line. 
 
 A glimpse of scarlet at the gap 
 
 Showed underneath each bobbing cap, 
 
 And at the corner by the gate, 
 
 One heard Tom Dansey give a rate, 
 
 "Hep, Drop it. Jumper; have a care," 
 
 There came a growl, half-rate, half-swear, 
 
 A spitting crack, a tuneful whimper 
 
 And sweet religion entered Jumper. 
 117 
 
Il8 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 There was a general turn of faces, 
 The men and horses shifted places, 
 And round the corner came the hunt, 
 Those feathery things, the hounds, in front, 
 Intent, wise, dipping, trotting, straying. 
 Smiling at people, shoving, playing. 
 Nosing to children's faces, waving 
 Their feathery sterns, and all behaving, 
 One eye to Dansey on Maroon. 
 Their padding cat-feet beat a tune, 
 And though they trotted up so quiet 
 Their noses brought them news of riot. 
 Wild smells of things with living blood. 
 Hot smells, against the grippers good. 
 Of weasel, rabbit, cat and hare, 
 Whose feet had been before them there, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 119 
 
 Whose taint still tingled every breath ; 
 But Dansey on Maroon was death, 
 So, though their noses roved, their feet 
 Larked and trit-trotted to the meet. 
 
 Bill Tali and Ell and Mirtie Key 
 (Aged fourteen years between the three) 
 Were flooded by them at the bend, 
 They thought their little lives would end. 
 For grave sweet eyes looked into theirs, 
 Cold noses came, and clean short hairs 
 And tails all crumpled up like ferns, 
 A sea of moving heads and sterns, 
 All round them, brushing coat and dress ; 
 One paused, expecting a caress. 
 The children shrank into each other, 
 
A sea of moving heads and sterns, 
 
 All round them, brushing coat and dress. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 121 
 
 Shut eyes, clutched tight and shouted "Mother" 
 With mouths wide open, catching tears. 
 
 Sharp Mrs. Tall allayed their fears, 
 
 "Err out the road, the dogs won't hurt 'ee. 
 
 There now, you've cried your faces dirty. 
 
 More cleaning up for me to do. 
 
 What ? Cry at dogs, great lumps like you ?" 
 
 She licked her handkerchief and smeared 
 
 Their faces where the dirt appeared. 
 
 The hunt trit-trotted to the meeting, 
 Tom Dansey touching cap to greeting, 
 Slow-lifting crop-thong to the rim. 
 No hunter there got more from him 
 Except some brightening of the eye. 
 
122 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He halted at the Cock and Pye, 
 
 The hounds drew round him on the green, 
 
 Arrogant, Daffodil and Queen, 
 
 Closest, but all in little space. 
 
 Some lolled their tongues, some made grimace. 
 
 Yawning, or tilting nose in quest, 
 
 All stood and looked about with zest. 
 
 They were uneasy as they waited. 
 
 Their sires and dams had been well-mated. 
 
 They were a lovely pack for looks ; 
 
 Their forelegs drumsticked without crooks, 
 
 Straight, without overtread or bend. 
 
 Muscled to gallop to the end. 
 
 With neat feet round as any cat's. 
 
 Great chested, muscled in the slats. 
 
 Bright, clean, short-coated, broad in shoulder. 
 
 With stag-like eyes that seemed to smoulder. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 123 
 
 The heads well-cocked, the clean necks strong ; 
 Brows broad, ears close, the muzzles long ; 
 And all like racers in the thighs ; 
 Their noses exquisitely wise, 
 Their minds being memories of smells ; 
 Their voices like a ring of bells ; 
 Their sterns all spirit, cock and feather ; 
 Their colours like the English weather, 
 Magpie and hare, and badger-pye, 
 Like minglings in a double dye, 
 Some smutty-nosed, some tan, none bald ; 
 Their manners were to come when called. 
 Their fiesh was sinew knit to bone, 
 Their courage like a banner blown. 
 Their joy, to push him out of cover. 
 And hunt him till they rolled him over. 
 They were as game as Robert Dover. 
 
THE WHIP 
 
 "S 
 
Tom Dansey was a famous whip 
 
 Trained as a child in horsemanship, 
 
 Entered, as soon as he was able, 
 
 As boy at Caunter's racing stable ; 
 
 There, like the other boys, he slept 
 
 In stall beside the horse he kept, 
 
 Snug in the straw ; and Caunter's stick 
 
 Brought morning to him all too quick. 
 
 He learned the high quick gingery ways 
 
 Of thoroughbreds ; his stable days 
 
 Made him a rider, groom and vet. 
 
 He promised to be too thickset 
 
 For jockeying, so left it soon. 
 
 Now he was whip and rode Maroon. 
 127 
 
His chief delight 
 
 Was hunting fox from noon to night. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 129 
 
 He was a small, lean, wiry man 
 With sunk cheeks weathered to a tan 
 Scarred by the spikes of hawthorn sprays 
 Dashed thro', head down, on going days, 
 In haste to see the line they took. 
 There was a beauty in his look, 
 It was intent. His speech was plain. 
 Maroon's head, reaching to the rein. 
 Had half his thought before he spoke. 
 His "gone away," when foxes broke, 
 Was like a bell. His chief delight 
 Was hunting fox from noon to night. 
 His pleasure lay in hounds and horses, 
 He loved the Seven Springs water-courses, 
 Those flashing brooks (in good sound grass, 
 Where scent would hang like breath on glass). 
 
130 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He loved the English countryside ; 
 The wine-leaved bramble in the ride, 
 The lichen on the apple-trees, 
 The poultry ranging on the lees, 
 The farms, the moist earth-smelling cover, 
 His wife's green grave at Mitcheldover, 
 Where snowdrops pushed at the first thaw. 
 Under his hide his heart was raw 
 With joy and pity of these things. 
 The second whip was Kitty Myngs, 
 Still but a lad but keen and quick 
 (Son of old Myngs who farmed the Wick), 
 A horse-mouthed lad who knew his work. 
 He rode the big black horse, the Turk, 
 And longed to be a huntsman bold. 
 He had the horse-look, sharp and old, 
 With much good-nature in his face. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 131 
 
 His passion was to go the pace 
 
 His blood was crying for a taming. 
 
 He was the Devil's chick for gaming, 
 
 He was a rare good lad to box. 
 
 He sometimes had a main of cocks 
 
 Down at the Flags. His job with hounds 
 
 At present kept his blood in bounds 
 
 From rioting and running hare. 
 
 Tom Dansey made him have a care. 
 
 He worshipped Dansey heart and soul. 
 
 To be a huntsman was his goal. 
 
 To be with hounds, to charge full tilt 
 
 Blackthorns that made the gentry wilt 
 
 Was his ambition and his hope. 
 
 He was a hot colt needing rope, 
 
 He was too quick to speak his passion 
 
 To suit his present huntsman's fashion. 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 
 
 133 
 
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 The huntsman, Robin Dawe, looked round, 
 
 He sometimes called a favourite hound. 
 
 Gently, to see the creature turn 
 
 Look happy up and wag his stern. 
 
 He smiled and nodded and saluted. 
 
 To those who hailed him, as it suited. 
 
 135 
 
136 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 And patted Pip's, his hunter's neck. 
 His new pink was without a speck ; 
 He was a red-faced smiling fellow, 
 His voice clear tenor, full and mellow. 
 His eyes, all fire, were black and small. 
 He had been smashed in many a fall. 
 His eyebrow had a white curved mark 
 Left by the bright shoe of The Lark, 
 Down in a ditch by Seven Springs. 
 His coat had all been trod to strings, 
 His ribs laid bare and shoulder broken 
 Being jumped on down at Water's Oaken, 
 The time his horse came down and rolled. 
 His face was of the country mould 
 Such as the mason sometimes cutted 
 On English moulding-ends which jutted 
 
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 b. 
 
 'WITH THE LOLLOPING EASE OF A FOXS HASTE.' 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 137 
 
 Out of the church walls, centuries since. 
 And as you never know the quince, 
 How good he is, until you try. 
 So, in Dawe's face, what met the eye 
 Was only part, what lay behind 
 Was English character and mind. 
 Great kindness, delicate sweet feeling, 
 (Most shy, most clever in concealing 
 Its depth) for beauty of all sorts. 
 Great manliness and love of sports, 
 A grave wise thoughtfulness and truth, 
 A merry fun, outlasting youth, 
 A courage terrible to see 
 And mercy for his enemy. 
 
 He had a clean-shaved face, but kept 
 
I3« REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 A hedge of whisker neatly dipt, 
 A narrow strip or picture frame 
 (Old Dawe, the woodman, did the same), 
 Under his chin from ear to ear. 
 
THE MASTER 
 
 139 
 
But now the resting hounds gave cheer, 
 
 Joyful and Arrogant and Catch-him, 
 
 Smelt the glad news and ran to snatch him, 
 
 The Master's dogcart turned the bend. 
 
 Damsel and Skylark knew their friend ; 
 
 A thrill ran through the pack like fire, 
 
 And little whimpers ran in quire. 
 
 The horses cocked and pawed and whickered, 
 
 Young Cothill's chaser kicked and bickered. 
 
 And stood on end and struck out sparks. 
 
 Joyful and Catch-him sang like larks, 
 
 There was the Master in the trap, 
 
 Clutching old Roman in his lap, 
 
 Old Roman, crazy for his brothers, 
 
 141 
 
142 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 And putting frenzy in the others, 
 To set them at the dogcart wheels, 
 With thrusting heads and little squeals. 
 
 The Master put old Roman by. 
 And eyed the thrusters heedfully. 
 He called a few pet hounds and fed 
 Three special friends with scraps of bread, 
 Then peeled his wraps, climbed down and strode 
 Through all those clamourers in the road, 
 Saluted friends, looked round the crowd. 
 Saw Harridew's three girls and bowed, 
 Then took White Rabbit from the groom. 
 
 He was Sir Peter Bynd, of Coombe ; 
 Past sixty now, though hearty still, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 143 
 
 A living picture of good-will, 
 An old, grave soldier, sweet and kind, 
 A courtier with a knightly mind, 
 Who felt whatever thing he thought. 
 His face was scarred, for he had fought 
 Five wars for us. Within his face 
 Courage and power had their place, 
 Rough energy, decision, force. 
 He smiled about him from his horse. 
 He had a welcome and salute 
 For all, on horse or wheel or foot. 
 Whatever kind of life each followed. 
 His tanned, drawn cheeks looked old and hollowed, 
 But still his bright blue eyes were young. 
 And when the pack crashed into tongue. 
 And staunch White Rabbit shook like fire, 
 
He had a welcome and salute 
 For all, on horse or wheel or foot. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 145 
 
 He sent him at it like a flier, 
 And lived with hounds while horses could. 
 "They'm lying in the Ghost Heath Wood, 
 Sir Peter," said an earth-stopper, 
 (Old Baldy Hill), "You'll find 'em there. 
 'Z I come'd across I smell 'em plain. 
 There's one up back, down Tuttock's drain. 
 But, Lord, it's just a bog, the Tuttocks, 
 Hounds would be swallered to the buttocks. 
 Heath Wood, Sir Peter's best to draw." 
 
THE START 
 
 U7 
 
Sir Peter gave two minutes' law 
 
 For Kingston Challow and his daughter; 
 
 He said, "They're late. We'll start the 
 
 slaughter. 
 Ghost Heath, then, Dansey, We'll be going." 
 
 Now, at his word, the tide was flowing 
 
 Off went Maroon, off went the hounds, 
 
 Down road, then off, to Chols Elm Grounds, 
 
 Across soft turf with dead leaves cleaving 
 
 And hillocks that the mole was heaving. 
 
 Mild going to those trotting feet. 
 
 After the scarlet coats, the meet 
 
 149 
 
150 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Came clopping up the grass in spate ; 
 They poached the trickle at the gate ; 
 Their horses' feet sucked at the mud ; 
 Excitement in the horses' blood, 
 Cocked forward every ear and eye ; 
 They quivered as the hounds went by, 
 They trembled when they first trod grass ; 
 They would not let another pass, 
 They scattered wide up Chols Elm Hill. 
 
 The wind was westerly but still ; 
 
 The sky a high fair-weather cloud, 
 
 Like meadows ridge-and-furrow ploughed, 
 
 Just glinting sun but scarcely moving. 
 
 Blackbirds and thrushes thought of loving, 
 
 Catkins were out ; the day seemed tense 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 151 
 
 It was so still. At every fence 
 Cow-parsley pushed its thin green fern. 
 White-violet-leaves shewed at the burn. 
 
 Young Cothill let his chaser go 
 Round Chols Elm Field a turn or so 
 To soothe his edge. The riders went 
 Chatting and laughing and content 
 
152 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 In groups of two or three together. 
 The hounds, a flock of shaking feather, 
 Bobbed on ahead, past Chols Elm Cop. 
 The horses' shoes went clip-a-clop, 
 Along the stony cart-track there. 
 The little spinney was all bare, 
 But in the earth-moist winter day 
 The scarlet coats twixt tree and spray. 
 The glistening horses pressing on. 
 The brown faced lads, Bill, Dick and John, 
 And all the. hurry to arrive. 
 Were beautiful, like Spring alive. 
 The hounds melted away with Master 
 The tanned lads ran, the field rode faster. 
 The chatter joggled in the throats 
 Of riders bumping by like boats. 
 
The scarlet coats twixt tree and spray, 
 The gHstening horses pressing on. 
 
 And all the hurry to arrive, 
 Were beautiful, like Spring alive. 
 
154 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 "We really ought to hunt a bye day." 
 "Fine day for scent," "A fly or die day." 
 "They chopped a bagman in the check, 
 He had a collar round his neck." 
 "Old Ridden's girl's a pretty flapper." 
 "That Vaughan's a cad, the whipper-snapper." 
 "I tell 'ee, lads, I seed 'em plain, 
 Down in the Rough at Shifford's Main, 
 Old Squire stamping like a Duke, 
 So red with blood I thought he'd puke, 
 In appleplexie, as they do. 
 Miss Jane stood just as white as dew. 
 And heard him out in just white heat, 
 And then she trimmed him down a treat, 
 About Miss Lou it was, or Carrie 
 (She'd be a pretty peach to marry)." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 "Her'U draw up-wind, so us'Il go 
 Down by the furze, we'll see 'em so." 
 
 "Look, there they go, lad." 
 
 There they went, 
 Across the brook and up the bent. 
 Past Primrose Wood, past Brady Ride, 
 Along Ghost Heath to cover side. 
 The bobbing scarlet, trotting pack. 
 Turf scatters tossed behind each back, 
 Some horses blowing with a whinny, 
 A jam of horses in the spinney, 
 Close to the ride-gate ; leather straining. 
 Saddles all creaking; men complaining, 
 Chaffing each other as they pass't, 
 
 155 
 
IS6 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 On Ghost Heath turf they trotted fast. 
 Now as they neared the Ghost Heath Wood 
 Some riders grumbled, "What's the good : 
 It's shot all day and poached all night. 
 We shall draw blank and lose the light, 
 And lose the scent, and lose the day. 
 Why can't he draw Hope Goneaway, 
 Or Tuttocks Wood, instead of this ? 
 There's no fox here, there never is." 
 
 But as he trotted up to 
 
 cover, 
 Robin was watching to dis- 
 cover 
 What chance there was, and many a token 
 Told him, that though no hound had spoken, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 157 
 
 Most of them stirred to something there. 
 The old hounds' muzzles searched the a.ir, 
 Thin ghosts of scents were in their teeth, 
 From foxes which had crossed the Heath 
 Not very many hours before. 
 "We'll find," he said, "I'll bet a score." 
 Along Ghost Heath they trotted well. 
 The hoof-cuts made the bruised earth smell, 
 The shaken brambles scattered drops, 
 Stray pheasants kukkered out of copse. 
 Cracking the twigs down with their knockings 
 And planing out of sight with cockings ; 
 A scut or two lopped white to bramble. 
 
" COVER " 
 
 159 
 
And now they gathered to the gamble 
 
 At Ghost Heath Wood on Ghost Heath Down, 
 
 The hounds went crackling through the brown 
 
 Dry stalks of bracken killed by frost. 
 
 The wood stood silent in its host 
 
 Of halted trees all winter bare. 
 
 The boughs, like veins that suck the air, 
 
 Stretched tense, the last leaf scarcely stirred. 
 
 There came no song from any bird ; 
 
 The darkness of the wood stood still 
 
 Waiting for fate on Ghost Heath Hill. 
 
 The whips crept to the sides to view ; 
 
 The Master gave the nod, and "Leu, 
 
 Leu in, Ed-hoick, Ed-hoick, Leu in," 
 
 ti i6i * 
 
And now they gathered to the gamble 
 
 At Ghost Heath Wood on Ghost Heath Down. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 163 
 
 Went Robin, cracking through the whin 
 And through the hedge-gap into cover. 
 The binders crashed as hounds went over, 
 And cock-cock-cock the pheasants rose. 
 Then up went stern and down went nose, 
 And Robin's cheerful tenor cried, 
 Through hazel-scrub and stub and ride, 
 "O wind him, beauties, push him out, 
 Yooi, onto him, Yahout, Yahout, 
 O push him out, Yooi, wind him, wind him." 
 The beauties burst the scrub to find him. 
 They nosed the warren's clipped green lawn, 
 The bramble and the broom were drawn, 
 The covert's northern end was blank. 
 
 They turned to draw along the bank 
 Through thicker cover than the Rough 
 
l64 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Through three-and-four-year understuff 
 Where Robin's forearm screened his eyes. 
 "Yooi, find him, beauties," came his cries. 
 "Hark, hark to Daffodil," the laughter 
 Fain from his horn, brought whimpers after, 
 For ends of scents were everywhere. 
 He said, "This Hope's a likely lair. 
 And there's his billets, grey and furred. 
 And George, he's moving, there's a bird." 
 
 A blue uneasy jay was chacking. 
 
 (A swearing screech, like tearing sacking) 
 
 From tree to tree, as in pursuit. 
 
 He said "That's it. There's fox afoot. 
 
 And there, they're feathering, there she speaks. 
 
 Good Daffodil, good Tarrybreeks, 
 

 
 ^ 
 
 •HARK THERE TO DAFFODIL, HARK, HARK!' 
 
REYNARD THE FOX i6: 
 
 Hark there, to Daffodil, hark, hark." 
 The mild horn's note, the soft flaked spark 
 Of music, fell on that rank scent. 
 From heart to wild heart magic went. 
 The whimpering quivered, quavered, rose. 
 "Daffodil has it. There she goes. 
 O hark to her." With wild high crying 
 From frantic hearts, the hounds went flying 
 To Daffodil for that rank taint. 
 A waft of it came warm but faint. 
 In Robin's mouth, and faded so. 
 " First find a fox, then let him go," 
 Cried Robin Dawe. "For any sake. 
 Ring, Charley, till you're fit to break." 
 He cheered his beauties like a lover 
 And charged beside them into cover. 
 
PART TWO— THE FOX 
 
 167 
 
On old Cold Crendon's windy tops 
 
 Grows wintrily Blown Hilcote Copse, 
 
 Wind-bitten beech with badger barrows, 
 
 Where brocks eat wasp-grubs with their marrows. 
 
 And foxes lie on short-grassed turf. 
 
 Nose between paws, to hear the surf 
 
 Of wind in the beeches drowsily. 
 
 There was our fox bred lustily 
 
 Three years before, and there he berthed 
 
 169 
 
I/O REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Under the beech-roots snugly earthed, 
 With a roof of flint and a floor of chalk 
 And ten bitten hens' heads each on its stalk, 
 Some rabbits' paws, some fur from scuts, 
 A badger's corpse and a smell of guts. - 
 And there on the night before my tale 
 He trotted out for a point in the vale. 
 He saw, from the cover edge, the valley 
 Go trooping down with its droops of sally 
 To the brimming river's lipping bend, 
 And a light in the inn at Water's End. 
 He heard the owl go hunting by 
 And the shriek of the mouse the owl made die, 
 And the purr of the owl as he tore the red 
 Strings from between his claws and fed ; 
 The smack of joy of the horny lips 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 171 
 
 Marbled green with the blobby strips. 
 
 He saw the farms where the dogs were barking, 
 
 Cold Crendon Court and Copsecote Larking; 
 
 The fault with the spring as bright as gleed, 
 
 Green-slash-laced with water weed. 
 
 A glare in the sky still marked the town. 
 
 Though all folk slept and the blinds were down, 
 
 The street lamps watched the empty square, 
 
 The night-cat sang his evil there. 
 
 The fox's nose tipped up and round 
 
 Since smell is a part of sight and sound. 
 
 Delicate smells were drifting by, 
 
 The sharp nose flaired them heedfully : 
 
 Partridges in the clover stubble. 
 
 Crouched in a ring for the stoat to nubble. 
 
 Rabbit bucks beginning to box ; 
 
He saw the farms where the dogs were barking. 
 Cold Crendon Court and Copsecote Larking. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 173 
 
 A scratching place for the pheasant cocks ; 
 A hare in the dead grass near the drain, 
 And another smell like the spring again. 
 A faint rank taint like April coming, 
 It cocked his ears and his blood went drumming, 
 For somewhere out by Ghost Heath Stubs 
 Was a roving vixen wanting cubs.. 
 
THE ROVING 
 
 I7S 
 
Over the valley, floating faint 
 
 On a warmth of windflaw came the taint, 
 
 He cocked his ears, he upped his brush, 
 
 And he went up wind like an April thrush. 
 
 By the Roman Road to Braiches Ridge 
 
 Where the fallen willow makes a bridge, 
 
 Over the brook by White Hart's Thorn, 
 
 To the acres thin with pricking corn. 
 
 Over the sparse green hair of the wheat, 
 
 By the Clench Brook Mill at Clench Brook Leat, 
 
 Through Cowfoot Pastures to Nonely Stevens, 
 
 And away to Poltrewood St. Jevons. 
 
 Past Tott Hill Down all snaked with menses, 
 
 Past Clench St. Michael and Naunton Crucis, 
 N 177 
 
178 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Past Howie's Oak Farm where the raving brain 
 Of a dog who heard him foamed his chain, 
 Then off, as the farmer's window opened, 
 Past Stonepits Farm to Upton Hope End ; 
 Over short sweet grass and worn flint arrows. 
 And the three dumb hows of Tencombe Barrows ; 
 And away and away with a rolling scramble. 
 Through the blackthorn and up the bramble, 
 
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 ■OVER THE VALLEY, ILOATING FAINT 
 ON A WARMTH OF WINDFLAW, CAME THE TAINT." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 179 
 
 With a nose for the smells the night wind carried, 
 And his red fell clean for being married. 
 For clicketting time and Ghost Heath Wood 
 Had put the violet in his blood. 
 
 At Tencombe Rings near the Manor Linney, 
 His foot made the great black stallion whinny, 
 And the stallion's whinny aroused the stable 
 And the bloodhound bitches stretched their cable, 
 And the clink of the bloodhound's chain aroused 
 The sweet-breathed kye as they chewed and 
 
 drowsed. 
 And the stir of the cattle changed the dream 
 Of the cat in the loft to tense green gleam. 
 The red-wattled black cock hot from Spain 
 Crowed from his perch for dawn again. 
 
l8o REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 His breast-pufft hens, one-legged on perch, 
 Gurgled, beak-down, like men in church. 
 They crooned in the dark, lifting one red eye 
 In the raftered roost as the fox went by. 
 
 By Tencombe Regis and Slaughters Court, 
 Through the great grass square of Roman Fort, 
 By Nun's Wood Yews and the Hungry Hill, 
 And the Corpse Way Stones all standing still, 
 By Seven Springs Mead to Deerlip Brook, 
 And a lolloping leap to Water Hook. 
 Then with eyes like sparks and his blood 
 
 awoken 
 Over the grass to Water's Oaken, 
 And over the hedge and into ride 
 In Ghost Heath Wood for his roving bride. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX i8l 
 
 Before the dawn he had loved and fed 
 And found a kennel and gone to bed 
 On a shelf of grass in a thick of gorse 
 That would bleed a hound and blind a horse. 
 There he slept in the mild west weather 
 With his nose and brush well tucked together, 
 He slept like a child, who sleeps yet hears 
 With the self who needs neither eyes nor ears. 
 
 He slept while the pheasant cock untucked 
 His head from his wing, flew down and kukked. 
 While the drove of the starlings whirred and 
 
 wheeled 
 Out of the ash-trees into field. 
 While with great black flags that flogged and 
 
 paddled 
 
There he slept in the mild west weather 
 With his nose and brush well tucked together. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 183 
 
 The rooks went out to the plough and straddled, 
 Straddled wide on the moist red cheese 
 Of the furrows driven at Uppat's Leas. 
 
 Down in the village, men awoke, 
 The chimneys breathed with a faint blue smoke, 
 The fox slept on, though tweaks and twitches, 
 Due to his dreams, ran down his flitches. 
 
 The cows were milked and the yards were sluict, 
 And the cocks and hens let out of roost, 
 Windows were opened, mats were beaten, 
 All men's breakfasts were cooked and eaten, 
 But out in the gorse on the grassy shelf, 
 The sleeping fox looked after himself. 
 
184 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Deep in his dream he heard the life 
 Of the woodland seek for food or wife, 
 The hop of a stoat, a buck that thumped, 
 The squeal of a rat as a weasel jumped, 
 The blackbird's chackering scattering crying, 
 The rustling bents from the rabbits flying, 
 Cows in a byre, and distant men. 
 And Condicote church-clock striking ten. 
 
The boy's sweet whistle and dog's quick yap 
 Woke the fox from out of his nap. 
 
186 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 At eleven o'clock a boy went past, 
 With a rough-haired terrier following fast. . 
 The boy's sweet whistle and dog's quick yap 
 Woke the fox from out of his nap. 
 
SCENT 
 
 tB7 
 
He rose and stretched till the claws in his pads 
 Stuck homily out like long black gads, 
 He listened a while, and his nose went round 
 To catch the smell of the distant sound. 
 
 The windward smells came free from taint 
 
 They were rabbit, strongly, with lime-kiln, faint, 
 
 A wild-duck, likely, at Sars Holt Pond, 
 
 And sheep on the Sars Holt Down beyond. 
 
 The lee-ward smells were much less certain 
 
 For the Ghost Heath Hill was like a curtain, 
 
 Yet vague, from the lee-ward, now and then, 
 
 Came muffled sounds like the sound of men. 
 
 189 
 
I90 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He moved to his right to a clearer space, 
 And all his soul came into his face, 
 Into his eyes and into his nose, 
 As over the hill a murmur rose. 
 
 His ears were cocked and his keen nose flaired. 
 He sneered with his lips till his teeth were bared, 
 He trotted right and lifted a pad 
 Trying to test what foes he had. 
 
SOUND 
 
 191 
 
On Ghost Heath turf was a steady drumming 
 
 Which sounded like horses quickly coming, 
 
 It died as the hunt went down the dip, 
 
 Then Malapert yelped at Myngs's whip. 
 
 A bright iron horseshoe clinkt on stone, 
 
 Then a man's voice spoke, not one alone, 
 
 Then a burst of laughter, swiftly still. 
 
 Muffled away by Ghost Heath Hill. 
 
 Then, indistinctly, the clop, clip, clep, 
 
 On Brady Ride, of a horse's step. 
 
 Then silence, then, in a burst, much clearer, 
 
 . Voices and horses coming nearer, 
 
 And another noise, of a pit-pat beat 
 
 On the Ghost Hill grass, of foxhound feet. 
 o 193 
 
194 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He sat on his haunches listening hard, 
 While his mind went over the compass card, 
 Men were coming and rest was done, 
 But he still had time to get fit to run ; 
 He could outlast horse and outrace hound, 
 But men were devils from Lobs's Pound. 
 Scent was burning, the going good 
 The world one lust for a fox's blood, 
 The main earths stopped and the drains put-to. 
 And fifteen miles to the land he knew. 
 But of all the ills, the ill least pleasant 
 Was to run in the light when men were present. 
 Men in the fields to shout and sign 
 For a lift of hounds to a fox's line. 
 Men at the earth at the long point's end, 
 Men at each check and none his friend, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 I9S 
 
 Guessing each shift that a fox contrives, 
 But still, needs must when the devil drives. 
 
 He readied himself, then a soft horn blew, 
 Then a clear voice carolled "Ed-hoick. Eleu." 
 Then the wood-end rang with the clear voice 
 
 crying 
 And the crackle of scrub where hounds were trying. 
 
196 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Then, the horn blew nearer, a hound's voice 
 
 quivered, 
 Then another, then more, till his body shivered. 
 He left his kennel and trotted thence 
 With his ears flexed back and his nerves all tense. 
 He trotted down with his nose intent 
 For a fox's line to cross his scent, 
 It was only fair (he being a stranger) 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 197 
 
 That the native fox should have the danger. 
 Danger was coming, so swift, so swift. 
 That the pace of his trot began to Hft 
 The blue-winged Judas, a jay, began 
 Swearing, hounds whimpered, air stank of man. 
 
 He hurried his trotting, he now felt frighted, 
 It was his poor body made hounds excited. 
 He felt as he ringed the great wood through 
 That he ought to make for the land he knew. 
 
 Then the hounds' excitement quivered and 
 
 quickened. 
 Then a horn blew death till his marrow sickened 
 Then the wood behind was a crash of cry 
 For the blood in his veins ; it made him fly. 
 
198 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 They were on his line ; it was death to stay, 
 He must make for home by the shortest way, 
 But with all this yelling and all this wrath 
 And all these devils, how find a path ? 
 
 He ran like a stag to the wood's north corner, 
 Where the hedge was thick and the ditch a yawner. 
 But the scarlet glimpse of Myngs on Turk, 
 Watching the woodside, made him shirk. 
 
 He ringed the wood and looked at the south. 
 What wind there was blew into his mouth. 
 But close to the woodland's blackthorn thicket 
 Was Dansey, still as a stone, on picket. 
 At Dansey's back were a twenty more 
 Watching the cover and pressing fore. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 199 
 
 The fox drew in and flaired with his muzzle. 
 Death was there if he messed the puzzle. 
 There were men without and hounds within, 
 A crying that stiffened the hair on skin, 
 Teeth in cover and death without, 
 Both deaths coming, and no way out. 
 
FOUND 
 
His nose ranged swiftly, his heart beat fast. 
 Then a crashing cry rose up in a blast, 
 Then horse hooves trampled, then horses' flitches 
 Burst their way through the hazel switches, 
 Then the horn again made the hounds like mad, 
 And a man, quite near, said "Found, by Gad," 
 And a man, quite near, said "Now he'll break. 
 Lark's Leybourne Copse is the line he'll take." 
 And the men moved up with their talk and 
 
 stink 
 And the traplike noise of the horseshoe clink. 
 Men whose coming meant death from teeth 
 
 In a worrying wrench with him beneath. 
 
 203 
 
204 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 eighteen pence he was gone away. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 205 
 
 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 the smack of a 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 
 
2o6 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 With a head Hke 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 up wind as a racer goes. 
 
AWAY 
 
 207 
 
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 
 p 209 
 
2IO REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 211 
 
 "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. 
 
 The rise, which shut his field away, 
 
 Shewed him the vale's great map spread out, 
 
 The downs' lean flank and thrusting snout, 
 
 Pale pastures, red-brown plough, dark wood, 
 
 Blue distance, still as solitude. 
 
 Glitter of water here and there, 
 
212 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 The trees so delicately bare. 
 The dark green gorse and bright green holly. 
 "O glorious God," he said, "how jolly." 
 And there, down hill, two fields ahead, 
 The lolloping red dog-fox sped 
 Over Poor Pastures to the brook. 
 He grasped these things in one swift look 
 Then dived into the bulfinch heart 
 Through thorns that ripped his sleeves apart 
 And skutched new blood upon his brow. 
 "His point's Lark's Leybourne Covers now," 
 Said Robin, landing with a grunt, 
 "Forrard, my beautifuls." 
 
 The hunt 
 Followed down hill to race with him, 
 White Rabbit with his swallow's skim, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 213 
 
 Drew within hail, "Quick burst, Sir Peter." 
 "A traveller. Nothing could be neater. 
 Making for Godsdown clumps, I take it ? " 
 "Lark's Leybourne, sir, if he can make it. 
 Forrard." 
 
THE FIELD 
 
 2IS 
 
Bill Ridden thundered down ; 
 His big mouth grinned beneath his frown, 
 The hounds were going away from horses. 
 He saw the glint of water-courses, 
 Yell Brook and Wittold's Dyke ahead, 
 His horse shoes sliced the green turf red. 
 Young Cothill's chaser rushed and passt him. 
 Nob Manor, running next, said "Blast him. 
 That poet chap who thinks he rides." 
 Hugh Colway's mare made straking strides 
 Across the grass, the Colonel next : 
 Then Squire volleying oaths and vext, 
 Fighting his hunter for refusing : 
 
 Bell Ridden like a cutter cruising 
 
 217 
 
2l8 REYNARDTHEFOX 
 
 Sailing the grass, then Cob on Warder, 
 Then Minton Price upon Marauder ; 
 Ock Gumey with his eyes intense, 
 Burning as with a different sense. 
 His big mouth muttering glad "by damns" ; 
 Then Pete crouched down from head to hams, 
 Rapt like a saint, bright focussed flame. 
 Bennett with devils in his wame 
 Chewing black cud and spitting slanting ; 
 Copse scattering jests and Stukely ranting; 
 Sal Ridden taking line from Dansey ; 
 Long Robert forcing Necromancy ; 
 A dozen more with bad beginnings ; 
 Myngs riding hard to snatch an innings, 
 A wild last hound with high shrill yelps. 
 Smacked forrard with some whip-thong skelps. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 219 
 
 Then last of all, at top of rise, 
 The crowd on foot all gasps and eyes 
 The run up hill had winded them. 
 
 They saw the Yell Brook like a gem 
 
 Blue in the grass a short mile on, 
 
 They heard faint cries, but hounds were gone 
 
 A good eight fields and out of sight 
 
 Except a rippled glimmer white 
 
 Going away with dying cheering 
 
 And scarlet flappings disappearing, 
 
 And scattering horses going, going, 
 
 Going like mad, White Rabbit snowing 
 
 Far on ahead, a loose horse taking. 
 
 Fence after fence with stirrups shaking, 
 
 And scarlet specks and dark specks dwindling. 
 
220 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Nearer, were twigs knocked into kindling, 
 A much bashed fence still dropping stick, 
 Flung clods, still quivering from the kick, 
 Cut hoof-marks pale in cheesy clay, 
 The horse-smell blowing clean away. 
 Birds flitting back into the cover. 
 One last faint cry, then all was over. 
 The hunt had been, and found, and gone. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 221 
 
 At Neakings Farm, three furlongs on, 
 Hounds raced across the Waysmore Road, 
 Where many of the riders slowed 
 To tittup down a grassy lane, 
 Which led as hounds led in the main 
 And gave no danger of a fall. 
 There, as they tittupped one and all, 
 Big Twenty Stone came scattering by. 
 His great mare made the hoof-casts fly. 
 "By leave," he cried. "Come on. Come up. 
 This fox is running like a tup ; 
 Let's leave this lane and get to terms. 
 No sense in crawling here like worms. 
 Come, let me past and let me start, 
 This fox is running like a hart, 
 And this is going to be a run. 
 
He faced the fence and put her through it 
 Shielding his eyes lest spikes should blind him. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 223 
 
 Come on. I want to see the fun. 
 Thanky. By leave. Now, Maiden ; do it." 
 He faced the fence and put her through it 
 Shielding his eyes lest spikes should blind him, 
 The crashing blackthorn closed behind him. 
 Mud-scatters chased him as he scudded. 
 His mare's ears cocked, her neat feet thudded. 
 
THE RUN 
 
 225 
 
The kestrel cruising over meadow 
 Watched the hunt gallop on his shadow, 
 Wee figures, almost at a stand, 
 Crossing the multi-coloured land, 
 Slow as a shadow on a dial. 
 
 Some horses, swerving at a trial. 
 
 Baulked at a fence : at gates they bunched. 
 
 The mud about the gates was dunched. 
 
 Like German cheese ; men pushed for places, 
 
 And kicked the mud into the faces 
 
 Of those who made them room to pass. 
 
 The half-mile's gallop on the grass. 
 
 Had tailed them out, and warmed their blood. 
 
 227 
 
228 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 "His point's the Banner Barton Wood." 
 "That, or Goat's Gorse." "A stinger, this." 
 "You're right in that ; by Jove it is." 
 "An up-wind travelling fox, by George." 
 "They say Tom viewed him at the forge." 
 "Well, let me pass and let's be on." 
 
 They crossed the lane to Tolderton, 
 The hill-marl died to valley clay. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 229 
 
 And there before them ran the grey 
 Yell Water, swirling as it ran, 
 The Yell Brook of the hunting man. 
 The hunters eyed it and were grim. 
 They saw the water snaking slim 
 Ahead, like silver ; they could see 
 (Each man) his pollard willow tree 
 Firming the bank, they felt their horses 
 
230 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Catch the gleam's hint and gather forces ; 
 They heard the men behind draw near. 
 Each horse was trembling as a spear 
 Trembles in hand when tense to hurl, 
 They saw the brimmed brook's eddies curl. 
 The willow-roots like water-snakes ; 
 The beaten holes the ratten makes, 
 They heard the water's rush ; they heard 
 Hugh Colway's mare come like a bird ; 
 A faint cry from the hounds ahead, 
 Then saddle-strain, the bright hooves' tread. 
 Quick words, the splash of mud, the launch, 
 The sick hope that the bank be staunch. 
 Then Souse, with Souse to left and right. 
 Maroon across. Sir Peter's white 
 Down but pulled up, Tom over, Hugh 
 
r^j'^'^pi: 
 
 m^'^-^ 
 
 'THEN SOUSE, WITH SOUSE TO LEFT AND RIGHT." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 231 
 
 Mud to the hat but over, too, 
 Well splashed by Squire who was in. 
 
 With draggled pink stuck close to skin. 
 The Squire leaned from bank and hauled 
 His mired horse's rein ; he bawled 
 For help from each man racing by. 
 "What, help you pull him out ? Not I. 
 What made you pull him in ?" they said. 
 Nob Manor cleared and turned his head, 
 And cried "Wade up. The ford's upstream." 
 Ock Gurney in a cloud of steam 
 Stood by his dripping cob and wrung 
 The taste of brook mud from his tongue 
 And scraped his poor cob's pasterns clean. 
 "Lord, what a crowner we've a been, 
 
232 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 This jumping brook's a mucky job." 
 He muttered, grinning, "Lord, poor cob. 
 Now sir, let me." He turned to Squire 
 And cleared his hunter from the mire 
 By skill and sense and strength of arm. 
 
FULL CRY 
 
 »33 
 
Meanwhile the fox passed Nonesuch Farm, 
 Keeping the spinney on his right. 
 Hounds raced him here with all their might 
 Along the short firm grass, like fire. 
 The cowman viewed him from the byre 
 Lolloping on, six fields ahead, 
 Then hounds, still carrying such a head, 
 It made him stare, then Rob on Pip, 
 Sailing the great grass like a ship. 
 Then grand Maroon in all his glory 
 Sweeping his strides, his great chest hoary 
 With foam fleck and the pale hill-marl. 
 They strode the Leet, they flew the Snarl, 
 They knocked the nuts at Nonesuch Mill, 
 
 23S 
 
236 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Raced up the spur of Gallows Hill 
 And viewed him there. The line he took 
 Was Tineton and the Pantry Brook, 
 Going like fun and hounds like mad. 
 Tom glanced to see what friends he had 
 Still within sight, before he turned 
 The ridge's shoulder ; he discerned, 
 One field away, young Cothill sailing 
 Easily up. Pete Gurney failing, 
 Hugh Colway quartering on Sir Peter, 
 Bill waiting on the mare to beat her, 
 Sal Ridden skirting to the right. 
 A horse, with stirrups flashing bright 
 Over his head at every stride, 
 Looked like the Major's ; Tom espied 
 Far back, a scarlet speck of man 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 237 
 
 Running, and straddling as he ran. 
 Charles Copse was up, Nob Manor followed. 
 Then Bennett's big-boned black that wallowed 
 Clumsy, but with the strength of ten. 
 Then black and brown and scarlet men, 
 Brown horses, white and black and grey ' 
 Scattered a dozen fields away. 
 The shoulder shut the scene away. 
 
 From the Gallows Hill to the Tineton Copse 
 There were ten ploughed fields like ten full stops. 
 All wet red clay where a horse's foot 
 Would be swathed, feet thick, like an ash-tree 
 
 root. 
 The fox raced on, on the headlands firm, 
 Where his swift feet scared the coupling worm. 
 
238 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 The rooks rose raving to curse him raw 
 He snarled a sneer at their swoop and caw. 
 Then on, then on, down a half ploughed field 
 Where a ship-like plough drave glitter-keeled, 
 With a bay horse near and a white horse leading, 
 And a man saying "Zook" and the red earth 
 
 bleeding. 
 He gasped as he saw the ploughman drop 
 The stilts and swear at the team to stop. 
 The ploughman ran in his red clay clogs 
 Crying "Zick un, Towzer; zick, good dogs." 
 A couple of wire-haired lurchers lean 
 Arose from his wallet, nosing keen ; 
 With a rushing swoop they were on his track, 
 Putting chest to stubble to bite his back. 
 He swerved from his line with the curs at heel, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 239 
 
 The teeth as they missed him clicked like steel, 
 With a worrying snarl, they quartered on him, 
 While the ploughman shouted "Zick; upon him.' 
 The lurcher dogs soon shot their bolt, 
 And the fox raced on by the Hazel Holt, 
 Down the dead grass tilt to the sandstone gash 
 Of the Pantry Brook at Tineton Ash. 
 The loitering water, flooded full, 
 
240 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Had yeast on its lip like raddled wool, 
 It was wrinkled over with Arab script 
 Of eddies that twisted up and slipt. 
 The stepping stones had a rush about them 
 So the fox plunged in and swam without them. 
 
 He crossed to the cattle's drinking shallow 
 Firmed up with rush and the roots of mallow, 
 He wrung his coat from his draggled bones 
 And romped away for the Sarsen Stones. 
 
 A sneaking glance with his ears flexed back, 
 Made sure that his scent had failed the pack, 
 For the red clay, good for corn and roses, 
 Was cold for scent and brought hounds to noses. 
 He slackened pace by the Tineton Tree, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 241 
 
 (A vast hollow ash-tree grown in three), 
 He wriggled a shake and padded slow, 
 Not sure if the hounds were on or no. 
 
 A horn blew faint, then he heard the sounds 
 Of a cantering huntsman, lifting hounds. 
 The ploughman had raised his hat for sign. 
 And the hounds were lifted and on his line. 
 He heard the splash in the Pantry Brook, 
 And a man's voice : "Thiccy's the line he took," 
 And a clear "Yoi doit" and a whimpering quaver, 
 Though the lurcher dogs had dulled the savour. 
 
 The fox went off while the hounds made halt, 
 And the horses breathed and the field found fault. 
 But the whimpering rose to a crying crash 
 
242 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 By the hollow ruin of Tineton Ash. 
 Then again the kettle drum horse hooves beat, 
 And the green blades bent to the fox's feet 
 And the cry rose keen not far behind 
 Of the "Blood, blood, blood" in the fox-hounds' 
 mind. 
 
 The fox was strong, he was full of running, 
 He could run for an hour and then be cunning, 
 But the cry behind him made him chill, 
 They were nearer now and they meant to kill. 
 They meant to run him until his blood 
 Clogged on his heart as his brush with mud, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 243 
 
 Till his back bent up and his tongue hung flagging, 
 And his belly and brush were filthed from 
 
 dragging. 
 Till he crouched stone still, dead-beat and dirty, 
 With nothing but teeth against the thirty. 
 And all the way to that blinding end 
 He would meet with men and have none his friend. 
 Men to holloa and men to run him, 
 With stones to stagger and yells to stun him, 
 Men to head him, with whips to beat him, 
 Teeth to mangle and mouths to eat him. 
 And all the way, that wild high crying. 
 To cold his blood with the thought of dying. 
 The horn and the cheer, and the drum-like 
 
 thunder. 
 Of the horse hooves stamping the meadows under. 
 
244 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He upped his brush and went with a will 
 For the Sarsen Stones on Wan Dyke Hill. 
 
 As he ran the meadow by Tineton Church, 
 
 A christening party left the porch. 
 
 They stood stock still as he pounded by, 
 
 They wished him luck but they thought he'd die. 
 
 The toothless babe in his long white coat 
 
 Looked delicate meat, the fox took note ; 
 
 But the sight of them grinning there, pointing 
 
 finger, 
 Made him put on steam till he went a stinger. 
 
 Past Tineton Church over Tineton Waste, 
 With the lolloping ease of a fox's haste, 
 The fur on his chest blown dry with the air, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 245 
 
 His brush still up and his cheek-teeth bare. 
 Over the Waste where the ganders grazed, 
 The long swift lilt of his loping lazed, 
 His ears cocked up as his blood ran higher, 
 He saw his point, and his eyes took fire. 
 The Wan Dyke Hill with its fir tree barren. 
 Its dark of gorse and its rabbit warren. 
 The Dyke on its heave like a tightened girth. 
 And holes in the Dyke where a fox might earth. 
 He had rabbitted there long months before, 
 The earths were deep and his need was sore, 
 The way was new, but he took a vearing, 
 And rushed like a blown ship billow-sharing. 
 
 Off Tineton Common to Tineton Dean, 
 Where the wind-hid elders pushed with green ; 
 
246 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Through the Dean's thin cover across the lane, 
 
 And up Midwinter to King of Spain. 
 
 Old Joe at digging his garden grounds, 
 
 Said "A fox, being hunter; where be hounds ? 
 
 O lord, my back, to be young again, 
 
 'Stead a zellin zider in King of Spain. 
 
 O hark, I hear 'em, O sweet, O sweet. 
 
 Why there be redcoat in Gearge's wheat. 
 
 And there be redcoat, and there they gallop. 
 
 Thur go a browncoat down a wallop. 
 
 Quick, Ellen, quick, come Susan, fly. 
 
 Here'm hounds. I zeed the fox go by, 
 
 Go by like thunder, go by like blasting, 
 
 With his girt white teeth all looking ghasting. 
 
 Look there come hounds. Hark, hear 'em crying. 
 
 Lord, belly to stubble, ain't they flying. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 247 
 
 There's huntsmen, there. The fox come past 
 (As I was digging) as fast as fast. 
 He's only been gone a minute by; 
 A girt dark dog as pert as pye." 
 
 Ellen and Susan came out scattering 
 
 Brooms and dustpans till all was clattering; 
 
 They saw the pack come head to foot 
 
 Running like racers nearly mute ; 
 
 Robin and Dansey quartering near, 
 
 All going gallop like startled deer. 
 
 A half dozen flitting scarlets shewing 
 
 In the thin green Dean where the pines were 
 growing. 
 
 Black coats and brown coats thrusting and spur- 
 ring 
 
248 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Sending the partridge coveys whirring, 
 Then a rattle up hill and a clop up lane, 
 It emptied the bar of the King of Spain. 
 
 Tom left his cider, Dick left his bitter, 
 Ganfer James left his pipe and spitter. 
 Out they came from the sawdust floor. 
 They said, "They'm going." They said "0 Lor." 
 
 The fox raced on, up the Barton Balks, 
 With a crackle of kex in the nettle stalks. 
 Over Hammond's grass to the dark green line 
 Of the larch-wood smelling of turpentine. 
 Scratch Steven Larches, black to the sky, 
 A sadness breathing with one long sigh. 
 Grey ghosts of treen under funeral plumes. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 249 
 
 A mist of twig over soft brown glooms. 
 As he entered the wood he heard the smacks, 
 Chip-jar, of the fir pole feller's axe. 
 He swerved to the left to a broad green ride. 
 Where a boy made him rush for the further side. 
 He swerved to the left, to the Barton Road, 
 But there were the timberers come to load. 
 Two timber carts and a couple of carters 
 With straps round their knees instead of garters. 
 He swerved to the right, straight down the wood, 
 The carters watched him, the boy hallooed. 
 He leaped from the larch wood into tillage. 
 The cobbler's garden of Barton village. 
 
 The cobbler bent at his wooden foot, 
 Beating sprigs in a broken boot ; 
 
2SO REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He wore old glasses with thick horn rim, 
 
 He scowled at his work for his sight was dim. 
 
 His face was dingy, his lips were grey. 
 
 From primming sparrowbills day by day ; 
 
 As he turned his boot he heard a noise 
 
 At his garden-end and he thought, "It's boys." 
 
 He saw his cat nip up on the shed, 
 
 Where her back arched up till it touched her 
 
 head. 
 He saw his rabbit race round and round 
 Its little black box three feet from ground. 
 His six hens cluckered and flucked to perch, 
 "That's boys," said cobbler, "so I'll go search." 
 He reached his stick and blinked in his wrath, 
 When he saw a fox in his garden path. 
 The fox swerved left and scrambled out 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 251 
 
 Knocking crinked green shells from the Brussels 
 
 Sprout, 
 He scrambled out through the cobbler's paling, 
 And up Pill's orchard to Purton's Tailing, 
 Across the plough at the top of bent, 
 Through the heaped manure to kill his scent. 
 Over to Aldams, up to Cappells, 
 Past Nursery Lot with its white-washed apples, 
 Past Colston's Broom, past Gaunts, past Sheres, 
 Past Foxwhelps Oasts with their hooded ears. 
 Past Monk's Ash Clerewell, past Beggars Oak, 
 Past the great elms blue with the Plinton smoke, 
 Along Long Hinton to Hinton Green, 
 Where the wind-washed steeple stood serene 
 With its golden bird still sailing air. 
 Past Banner Barton, past Chipping Bare, 
 
252 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Past Maddings Hollow, down Dundry Dip, 
 And up Goose Grass to the Sailing Ship. 
 
 The three black firs of the Ship stood still 
 On the bare chalk heave of the Dundry Hill, 
 The fox looked back as he slackened past 
 The scaled red-bole of the mizzen-mast. 
 
VIEW HALLOO 
 
 2S3 
 
There they were coming, mute but swift, 
 A scarlet smear in the blackthorn rift, 
 A white horse rising, a dark horse flying. 
 And the hungry hounds too tense for crying. 
 Stormcock leading, his stern spear-straight. 
 Racing as though for a piece of plate. 
 Little speck horsemen field on field ; 
 Then Dansey viewed him and Robin squealed 
 
 At the View Halloo the hounds went frantic, 
 Back went Stormcock and up went Antic, 
 Up went Skylark as Antic sped 
 It was zest to blood how they carried head. 
 
 255 
 
A white horse rising, a dark horse flying. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 257 
 
 Skylark dropped as Maroon drew by, 
 Their hackles lifted, they scored to cry. 
 
 The fox knew well, that before they tore him, 
 They should try their speed on the downs before 
 
 him, 
 There were three more miles to the Wan Dyke 
 
 Hill, 
 But his heart was high, that he beat them still. 
 The wind of the downland charmed his bones 
 So off he went for the Sarsen Stones. 
 
 The moan of the three great firs in the wind. 
 And the Ai of the foxhounds died behind. 
 Wind-dapples followed the hill-wind's breath 
 On the Kill Down gorge where the Danes found 
 death ; 
 
2S8 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Larks scattered up ; the peewits feeding 
 Rose in a flock from the Kill Down Steeding. 
 The hare leaped up from her form and swerved 
 Swift left for the Starveall harebell-turved. 
 On the wind-bare thorn some longtails prinking 
 Cried sweet, as though wind blown glass were 
 
 chinking. 
 Behind came thudding and loud halloo 
 Or a cry from hounds as they came to view. 
 
 The pure clean air came sweet to his lungs, 
 Till he thought foul scorn of those crying tongues, 
 In a three mile more he would reach the haven 
 In the Wan Dyke croaked on by the raven. 
 In a three mile more he would make his berth 
 On the hard cool floor of a Wan Dyke earth, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 259 
 
 Too deep for spade, too curved for terrier, 
 With the pride of the race to make rest the 
 
 merrier. 
 In a three mile more he would reach his dream. 
 So his game heart gulped and he put on steam. 
 Like a rocket shot to a ship ashore. 
 The lean red bolt of his body tore, 
 Like a ripple of wind running swift on grass. 
 Like a shadow on wheat when a cloud blows past, 
 Like a turn at the buoy in a cutter sailing, 
 When the bright green gleam lips white at the 
 
 railing. 
 Like the April snake whipping back to sheath. 
 Like the gannet's hurtle on fish beneath, 
 Like a kestrel chasing, like a sickle reaping, 
 Like all things swooping, like all things sweeping, 
 
26o REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Like a hound for stay, like a stag for swift, 
 With his shadow beside like spinning drift. 
 Past the gibbet-stock all stuck with nails. 
 
 Where they hanged in chains what had hung at 
 
 jails, 
 Past Ashmundshowe where Ashmund sleeps, 
 And none but the tumbling peewit weeps, 
 Past Curlew Calling, the gaunt grey corner 
 Where the curlew comes as a summer mourner, 
 Past Blowbury Beacon shaking his fleece, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 261 
 
 Where all winds hurry and none brings peace, 
 Then down, on the mile-long green decline 
 Where the turf's like spring and the air's like wine, 
 Where the sweeping spurs of the downland spill 
 Into Wan Brook Valley and Wan Dyke Hill. 
 
 On he went with a galloping rally 
 
 Past Maesbury Clump for Wan Brook Valley, 
 
 The blood in his veins went romping high, 
 
 "Get on, on, on to the earth or die." 
 
 The air of the downs went purely past, 
 
 Till he felt the glory of going fast. 
 
 Till the terror of death, though there indeed. 
 
 Was lulled for a while by his pride of speed ; 
 
 He was romping away from hounds and hunt. 
 
 He had Wan Dyke Hill and his earth in front, 
 
262 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 In a one mile more when his point was made, 
 He would rest in safety from dog or spade ; 
 Nose between paws he would hear the shout 
 Of the "gone to earth" to the hounds without, 
 The whine of the hounds, and their cat feet gadding. 
 Scratching the earth, and their breath pad- 
 padding. 
 He would hear the horn call hounds away. 
 And rest in peace till another day. 
 In one mile more he would lie at rest 
 So for one mile more he would go his best. 
 He reached the dip at the long droop's end 
 And he took what speed he had still to spend. 
 
 So down past Maesbury beech clump grey. 
 That would not be green till the end of May, 
 
\Va 
 
 \ 
 
 
 f^ 
 
 / -.,r 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 / 
 
 Wijm:^ 
 
 
 'HE CAPPED THEM ON TILL THEY DID THEIR P.EST.' 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 263 
 
 Past Arthur's Table, the white chalk boulder, 
 Where pasque flowers purple the down's grey 
 
 shoulder, 
 Past Quichelm's Keeping, past Harry's Thorn 
 To Thirty Acre all thin with corn. 
 As he raced the corn towards Wan Dyke Brook, 
 The pack had view of the way he took, 
 Robin hallooed from the downland's crest. 
 He capped them on till they did their best. 
 The quarter mile to the Wan Brook's brink 
 Was raced as quick as a man can think. 
 And here, as he ran to the huntsman's yelling, 
 The fox first felt that the pace was telling. 
 His body and lungs seemed all grown old, 
 His legs less certain, his heart less bold, 
 The hound-noise nearer, the hill slope steeper, 
 
264 
 
 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 >>|^^% 
 
 
 The thud in the blood of his body deeper, 
 His pride in his speed, his joy in the race 
 Were withered away, for what use was pace ? 
 He had run his best, and the hounds ran better. 
 Then the going worsened, the earth was wetter. 
 Then his brush drooped down till it sometimes 
 
 dragged. 
 And his fur felt sick and his chest was tagged 
 
REYNARDTHEFOX 265 
 
 With taggles of mud, and his pads seemed lead, 
 It was well for him he'd an earth ahead. 
 Down he went to the brook and over, 
 Out of the corn and into the clover, 
 Over the slope that the Wan Brook drains, 
 Past Battle Tump where they earthed the Danes, 
 Then up the hill that the Wan Dyke rings 
 Where the Sarsen Stones stand grand like kings. 
 
 Seven Sarsens of granite grim. 
 As he ran them by they looked at him ; 
 As he leaped the lip of their earthen paling 
 The hounds were gaining and he was failing. 
 
 He passed the Sarsens, he left the spur. 
 He pressed up hill to the blasted fir, 
 
266 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He slipped as he leaped the hedge ; he slithered ; 
 "He's mine," thought Robin. "He's done; he's 
 
 dithered." 
 At the second attempt he cleared the fence, 
 He turned half right where the gorse was dense, 
 He was leading hounds by a furlong clear. 
 He was past his best, but his earth was near. 
 He ran up gorse, to the spring of the ramp. 
 The steep green wall of the dead men's camp, 
 He sidled up it and scampered down 
 To the deep green ditch of the dead men's town. 
 
 Within, as he reached that soft green turf, 
 The wind, blowing lonely, moaned like surf, 
 Desolate ramparts rose up steep, 
 On either side, for the ghosts to keep. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 267 
 
 He raced the trench, past the rabbit warren, 
 Close grown with moss which the wind made 
 
 barren, 
 He passed the spring where the rushes spread, 
 And there in the stones was his earth ahead. 
 One last short burst upon failing feet, 
 There life lay waiting, so sweet, so sweet, 
 Rest in a darkness, balm for aches. 
 
 The earth was stopped. It was barred with 
 stakes. 
 
LAST HOPE 
 
 260 
 
With hounds at head so close behind 
 He had to run as he changed his mind. 
 This earth, as he saw, was stopped, but still 
 There was one earth more on the Wan Dyke Hill. 
 A rabbit burrow a furlong on, 
 He could kennel there till the hounds were gone. 
 Though his death seemed near he did not blench 
 He upped his brush and he ran the trench. 
 
 He ran the trench while the wind moaned treble. 
 
 Earth trickled down, there were falls of pebble. 
 
 Down in the valley of that dark gash 
 
 The wind-withered grasses looked like ash. 
 
 Trickles of stones and earth fell down 
 
 271 
 
272 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 In that dark valley of dead men's town. 
 A hawk arose from a fluff of feathers, 
 From a distant fold came a bleat of wethers. 
 He heard no noise from the hounds behind 
 But the hill-wind moaning like something blind. 
 
 He turned the bend in the hill and there 
 
 Was his rabbit-hole with its mouth worn bare, 
 
 But there with a gun tucked under his arm 
 
 Was young Sid Kissop of Purlpits Farm, 
 
 With a white hob ferret to drive the rabbit 
 
 Into a net which was set to nab it. 
 
 And young Jack Cole peered over the wall 
 
 And loosed a pup with a "Z'bite en, Saul," 
 
 The terrier pup attacked with a will. 
 
 So the fox swerved right and away down hill. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 273 
 
 Down from the ramp of the Dyke he ran 
 To the brackeny patch where the gorse began, 
 Into the gorse, where the hill's heave hid 
 The line he took from the eyes of Sid 
 He swerved down wind and ran like a hare 
 For the wind-blown spinney below him there. 
 
 He slipped from the Gorse to the spinney dark 
 (There were curled grey growths on the oak tree 
 
 bark) 
 He saw no more of the terrier pup. 
 But he heard men speak and the hounds come up. 
 
 He crossed the spinney with ears intent 
 
 For the cry of hounds on the way he went, 
 
 His heart was thumping, the hounds were near now, 
 
274 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He could make no sprint at a cry and cheer now, 
 He was past his perfect, his strength was failing, 
 His brush sag-sagged and his legs were ailing. 
 He felt as he skirted Dead Men's Town, 
 That in one mile more they would have him down. 
 
CHECKED 
 
 275 
 
Through the withered oak's wind-crouching tops 
 He saw men's scarlet above the copse, 
 He heard men's oaths, yet he felt hounds slacken 
 In the frondless stalks of the brittle bracken. 
 
 277 
 
2/8 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He felt that the unseen link which bound 
 
 His spine to the nose of the leading hound, 
 
 Was snapped, that the hounds no longer knew 
 
 Which way to follow nor what to do ; 
 
 That the threat of the hound's teeth left his neck, 
 
 They had ceased to run, they had come to check. 
 
 They were quartering wide on the Wan Hill's bent. 
 
 The terrier's chase had killed his scent. 
 
 He heard bits chink as the horses shifted. 
 
 He heard hounds cast, then he heard hounds lifted, 
 
 But there came no cry from a new attack. 
 
 His heart grew steady, his breath came back. 
 
 He left the spinney and ran its edge, 
 
 By the deep dry ditch of the blackthorn hedge, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 279 
 
 Then out of the ditch and down the meadow, 
 Trotting at ease in the blackthorn shadow 
 Over the track called Godsdown Road, 
 To the great grass heave of the gods' abode, 
 He was moving now upon land he knew 
 Up Clench Royal and IMorton Tew, 
 The Pol Brook, Cheddesdon and East Stoke Church, 
 High Clench St. Lawrence and Tinker's Birch, 
 Land he had roved on night by night. 
 For hot blood suckage or furry bite. 
 The threat of the hounds behind was gone ; 
 He breathed deep pleasure and trotted on. 
 While young Sid Kissop thrashed the pup, 
 Robin on Pip came heaving up. 
 And found his pack spread out at check. 
 "I'd like to wring your terrier's neck," 
 
28o REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He said, "You see? He's spoiled our sport. 
 He's killed the scent." He broke off short, 
 And stared at hounds and at the valley. 
 No jay or magpie gave a rally 
 Down in the copse, no circling rooks 
 Rose over fields ; old Joyful's looks 
 Were doubtful in the gorse, the pack 
 Quested both up and down and back. 
 He watched each hound for each small sign. 
 They tried, but could not hit the line. 
 The scent was gone. The field took place 
 Out of the way of hounds. The pace 
 Had tailed them out ; though four remained 
 
 Sir Peter, on White Rabbit stained 
 
 Red from the brooks. Bill Ridden cheery, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 281 
 
 Hugh Colway with his mare dead weary. 
 The Colonel with Marauder beat. 
 They turned towards a thud of feet ; 
 Dansey, and then young Cothill came 
 (His chestnut mare was galloped tame). 
 "There's Copse, a field behind," he said. 
 "Those last miles put them all to bed. 
 They're strung along the downs like flies." 
 Copse and Nob Manor topped the rise. 
 "Thank God, a check," they said, "at last." 
 
 "They cannot own it; you must cast," 
 Sir Peter said. The soft horn blew, 
 Tom turned the hounds up wind ; they drew 
 Up wind, down hill, by spinney side. 
 They tried the brambled ditch ; they tried 
 
'Thank God, a check," they said, "at last.' 
 'They cannot own it; you must cast." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 283 
 
 The swamp, all choked with bright green grass 
 And clumps of rush and pools like glass, 
 Long since, the dead men's drinking pond. 
 They tried the White Leaved Oak beyond, 
 But no hound spoke to it or feathered. 
 The horse heads drooped like horses tethered, 
 The men mopped brows. " An hour's hard 
 
 run. 
 Ten miles," they said, "we must have done. 
 It's all of six from Colston's Gorses." 
 The lucky got their second horses. 
 
 The time ticked by. " He's lost," they mut- 
 tered. 
 A pheasant rose. A rabbit scuttered. 
 Men mopped their scarlet cheeks and drank. 
 
284 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 They drew down wind along the bank, 
 (The Wan Way) on the hill's south spur, 
 Grown with dwarf oak and juniper 
 Like dwarves alive, but no hound spoke. 
 The seepings made the ground one soak. 
 They turned the spur ; the hounds were beat. 
 Then Robin shifted in his seat 
 Watching for signs, but no signs shewed. 
 "I'll lift across the Godsdown Road, 
 Beyond the spinney," Robin said. 
 Tom turned them ; Robin went ahead. 
 
 Beyond the copse a great grass fallow 
 Stretched towards Stoke and Cheddesdon Mallow, 
 A rolling grass where hounds grew keen. 
 "Yoi doit, then; this is where he's been," 
 
«^ 
 
 r^M^I^ 
 
 
 feSs. 
 
 "^•*v 
 
 
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 ■ .r-.^iv-v 
 
 ^"'^ ^' 
 
 
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 i^- 
 
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 N 
 
 
 •THEN ROBIN SHIFTED IN HIS SEAT 
 WATCHlNf; FOR SIGNS, HUT NO SIGNS SHOWED . . .' 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 Said Robin, eager at their joy. 
 "Yooi, Joyful, lad, yooi, Cornerboy. 
 They're on to him." 
 
 285 
 
ON 
 
 287 
 
At his reminders 
 The keen hounds hurried to the finders. 
 The finding hounds began to hurry, 
 Men jammed their hats prepared to skurry, 
 The Ai Ai of the cry began. 
 Its spirit passed to horse and man, 
 The skirting hounds romped to the cry. 
 Hound after hound cried Ai Ai Ai, 
 Till all were crying, running, closing. 
 Their heads well up and no heads nosing, 
 Joyful ahead with spear-straight stern. 
 They raced the great slope to the burn. 
 Robin beside them, Tom behind. 
 Pointing past Robin down the wind. 
 
 V 289 
 
290 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 For there, two furlongs on, he viewed 
 On Holy Hill or Cheddesdon Rood 
 Just where the ploughland joined the grass, 
 A speck down the first furrow pass, 
 A speck the colour of the plough. 
 "Yonder he goes. We'll have him now," 
 He cried. The speck passed slowly on, 
 It reached the ditch, paused, and was gone. 
 
 Then down the slope and up the Rood, 
 Went the hunt's gallop. Godsdown Wood 
 Dropped its last oak-leaves at the rally. 
 Over the Rood to High Clench Valley 
 The gallop led ; the red-coats scattered. 
 The fragments of the hunt were tattered 
 Over five fields, ev'n since the check. 
 
Then down the slope and up the Rood, 
 Went the hunt's gallop. 
 
292 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 "A dead fox or a broken neck," 
 Said Robin Dawe, "Come up, the Dane." 
 The hunter leant against the rein, 
 Cocking his ears, he loved to see 
 The hounds at cry. The hounds and he 
 The chiefs in all that feast of pace. 
 
 The speck in front began to race. 
 
 The fox heard hounds get on to his line, 
 
 And again the terror went down his spine, 
 
 Again the back of his neck felt cold. 
 
 From the sense of the hound's teeth taking hold. 
 
 But his legs were rested, his heart was good, 
 
 He had breath to gallop to Mourne End Wood, 
 
 It was four miles more, but an earth at end, 
 
 So he put on pace down the Rood Hill Bend. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 293 
 
 Down the great grass slope which the oak trees dot 
 With a swerve to the right from the keeper's cot, 
 Over High Clench brook in its channel deep, 
 To the grass beyond, where he ran to sheep. 
 The sheep formed line like a troop of horse, 
 They swerved, as he passed, to front his course 
 From behind, as he ran, a cry arose, 
 "See the sheep, there. Watch them. There he goes." 
 
294 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He ran the sheep that their smell might check 
 The hounds from his scent and save his neck, 
 But in two fields more he was made aware 
 That the hounds still ran ; Tom had viewed him 
 there. 
 
 Tom had held them on through the taint of sheep, 
 
 They had kept his line, as they meant to keep, 
 
 They were running hard with a burning scent, 
 
 And Robin could see which way he went. 
 
 The pace that he went brought strain to breath. 
 
 He knew as he ran that the grass was death. 
 
 He ran the slope towards Morton Tew 
 
 That the heave of the hill might stop the view, 
 
 Then he doubled down to the Blood Brook red, 
 
 And swerved upstream in the brook's deep bed. 
 
He ran the sheep that their smell might check 
 The hounds from his scent and save his neck. 
 
296 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He splashed the shallows, he swam the deeps, 
 He crept by banks as a moorhen creeps, 
 He heard the hounds shoot over his line, 
 And go on, on, on towards Cheddesdon Zine. 
 
 In the minute's peace he could slacken speed, 
 The ease from the strain was sweet indeed. 
 Cool to the pads the water flowed. 
 He reached the bridge on the Cheddesdon road. 
 
 As he came to light from the culvert dim, 
 Two boys on the bridge looked down on him ; 
 They were young Bill Ripple and Harry Meun, 
 "Look, there be squirrel, a-swimmin', see 'un." 
 "Noa, ben't a squirrel, be fox, be fox. 
 Now, Hal, get pebble, we'll give en socks." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 297 
 
 "Get pebble, Billy, dub un a plaster; 
 There's for thy belly, I'll learn ee, master." 
 
 The stones splashed spray in the fox's eyes, 
 
 He raced from brook in a burst of shies, 
 
 He ran for the reeds in the withy car. 
 
 Where the dead flags shake and the wild-duck 
 
 are. 
 
298 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He pushed through the reeds which cracked at his 
 
 passing, 
 To the High Clench Water, a grey pool glassing, 
 He heard Bill Ripple in Cheddesdon road 
 Shout, "This way, huntsman, it's here he goed." 
 
THE LIFTING HORN 
 
 259 
 
The Leu Leu Leu went the soft horn's laughter, 
 The hounds (they had checked) came romping after, 
 The clop of the hooves on the road was plain, 
 Then the crackle of reeds, then cries again. 
 
 A whimpering first, then Robin's cheer, 
 Then the Ai Ai Ai ; they were all too near ; 
 His swerve had brought but a minute's rest. 
 Now he ran again, and he ran his best. 
 
 With a crackle of dead dry stalks of reed 
 
 The hounds came romping at topmost speed, 
 
 The redcoats ducked as the great hooves skittered 
 
 The Blood Brook's shallows to sheets that glittered ; 
 
 301 
 
302 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 With a cracking whip and a "Hoik, Hoik, Hoik, 
 Forrard," Tom galloped. Bob shouted "Yoick." 
 Like a running fire the dead reeds crackled 
 The hounds' heads lifted, their necks were hackled. 
 Tom cried to Bob as they thundered through, 
 "He is running short, we shall kill at Tew." 
 Bob cried to Tom as they rode in team, 
 "I was sure, that time, that he turned up-stream. 
 As the hounds went over the brook in stride, 
 I saw old Daffodil fling to side, 
 So I guessed at once, when they checked beyond." 
 The ducks flew up from the Morton Pond. 
 The fox looked up at their tailing strings. 
 He wished (perhaps) that a fox had wings. 
 Wings with his friends in a great V straining 
 The autumn sky when the moon is gaining ; 
 
With a cracking whip and a "Hoik, Hoik, Hoik, 
 Forrard," Tom galloped. Bob shouted "Yoick." 
 
304 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 For better the grey sky's solitude, 
 Than to be two miles from the Mourne End 
 
 Wood 
 With the hounds behind, clean-trained to run, 
 And your strength half spent and your breath half 
 
 done. 
 Better the reeds and the sky and water 
 Than that hopeless pad from a certain slaughter. 
 At the Morton Pond the fields began. 
 Long Tew's green meadows ; he ran ; he ran. 
 
 First the six green fields that make a mile. 
 With the lip-full Clench at the side the while, 
 With the rooks above, slow-circling, shewing 
 The world of men where a fox was going ; 
 The fields all empty, dead grass, bare hedges, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 305 
 
 And the brook's bright gleam in the dark of sedges. 
 To all things else he was dumb and blind, 
 He ran, with the hounds a field behind. 
 
MOURNE END WOOD 
 
 307 
 
At the sixth green field came the long slow climb, 
 
 To the Mourne End Wood as old as time 
 
 Yew woods dark, where they cut for bows, 
 
 Oak woods green with the mistletoes, 
 
 Dark woods evil, but burrowed deep 
 
 With a brock's earth strong, where a fox might sleep. 
 
 He saw his point on the heaving hill. 
 
 He had failing flesh and a reeling will. 
 
 He felt the heave of the hill grow stiff, 
 
 He saw black woods, which would shelter — 
 
 If — 
 
 Nothing else, but the steepening slope. 
 
 And a black line nodding, a line of hope, 
 
 The line of the yews on the long slope's brow, 
 
 309 
 
3IO REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 A mile, three-quarters, a half-mile now. 
 A quarter-mile, but the hounds had viewed. 
 They yelled to have him this side the wood ; 
 Robin capped them, Tom Dansey steered them 
 With a "Yooi, Yooi, Yooi," Bill Ridden cheered 
 
 them. 
 Then up went hackles as Shatterer led, 
 "Mob him," cried Ridden, "the wood's ahead. 
 Turn him, damn it ; Yooi, beauties, beat him. 
 O God, let them get him ; let them eat him. 
 O God," said Ridden, "I'll eat him stewed. 
 If you'll let us get him this side the wood." 
 
 But the pace, uphill, made a horse like stone, 
 
 The pack went wild up the hill alone. 
 
 Three hundred yards, and the worst was past, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 311 
 
 The slope was gentler and shorter-grassed, 
 The fox saw the bulk of the woods grow tall 
 On the brae ahead like a barrier-wall. 
 He saw the skeleton trees show sky, 
 And the yew trees darken to see him die, 
 And the line of the woods go reeling black, 
 There was hope in the woods, and behind, the 
 pack. 
 
 Two hundred yards, and the trees grew taller. 
 Blacker, blinder, as hope grew smaller 
 Cry seemed nearer, the teeth seemed gripping 
 Pulling him back, his pads seemed slipping. 
 He was all one ache, one gasp, one thirsting. 
 Heart on his chest-bones, beating, bursting, 
 The hounds were gaining like spotted pards 
 
312 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 And the wood-hedge still was a hundred yards. 
 The wood-hedge black was a two year, quick 
 Cut-and-laid that had sprouted thick 
 Thorns all over, and strongly plied, 
 With a clean red ditch on the take-off side. 
 
 He saw it now as a redness, topped 
 
 With a wattle of thorn-work spiky cropped, 
 
 Spiky to leap on, stiff to force, 
 
 No safe jump for a failing horse. 
 
 But beyond it, darkness of yews together. 
 
 Dark green plumes over soft brown feather. 
 
 Darkness of woods where scents were blowing 
 
 Strange scents, hot scents, of wild things going, 
 
 Scents that might draw these hounds away. 
 
 So he ran, ran, ran to that clean red clay. 
 
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 ///- 
 
 K /- 
 
 - ' X^Vv 
 
 
 y^ 
 
 He saw it now as a redness, topped 
 
 With a wattle of thorn-work spiky cropped. 
 
314 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Still, as he ran, his pads slipped back, 
 All his strength seemed to draw the pack. 
 The trees drew over him dark like Norns, 
 He was over the ditch and at the thorns. 
 
 He thrust at the thorns, which would not yield, 
 He leaped, but fell, in sight of the field, 
 The hounds went wild as they saw him fall, 
 The fence stood stiff like a Bucks flint wall. 
 
 He gathered himself for a new attempt. 
 
 His life before was an old dream dreamt, 
 
 All that he was was a blown fox quaking. 
 
 Jumping at thorns too stiff for breaking, 
 
 While over the grass in crowd, in cry. 
 
 Came the grip teeth grinning to make him die. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 315 
 
 The eyes intense, dull, smouldering red, 
 The fell like a ruff round each keen head, 
 The pace like fire, and scarlet men 
 Galloping, yelling, "Yooi, eat him, then." 
 He gathered himself, he leaped, he reached 
 The top of the hedge like a fish-boat beached, 
 He steadied a second and then leaped down 
 To the dark of the wood where bright things drown. 
 
 He swerved, sharp right, under young green firs. 
 
 Robin called on the Dane with spurs. 
 
 He cried "Come, Dansey : if God's not good. 
 
 We shall change our fox in this Mourne End wood." 
 
 Tom cried back as he charged like spate, 
 
 "Mine can't jump that, I must ride to gate." 
 
 Robin answered, "I'm going at him. 
 
3l6 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 I'll kill that fox, if he kills me, drat him. 
 We'll kill in covert. Gerr on, now, Dane." 
 He gripped him tight and he made it plain, 
 He slowed him down till he almost stood 
 While his hounds went crash into Mourne End 
 Wood. 
 
 Like a dainty dancer with footing nice, 
 The Dane turned side for a leap in twice. 
 He cleared the ditch to the red clay bank, 
 He rose at the fence as his quarters sank. 
 He barged the fence as the bank gave way 
 And down he came in a fall of clay. 
 
 Robin jumped off him and gasped for breath ; 
 He said, "That's lost him, as sure as death. 
 
■JP'-S^ 
 
 :m 
 
 ■ v5 - 
 
 
 « V«S5*'''^ 
 
 
 "HE CLEARED THE DITCH TO THE RED CLAY BANK, 
 HE ROSE AT THE FENCE AS HIS QUARTERS SANK.' 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 317 
 
 They've over-run him. Come up, the Dane, 
 But I'll kill him yet, if we ride to Spain." 
 
 He scrambled up to his horse's back, 
 
 He thrust through cover, he called his pack, 
 
 He cheered them on till they made it good, 
 
 Where the fox had swerved inside the wood. 
 
 The fox knew well, as he ran the dark. 
 
 That the headlong hounds were past their mark. 
 
 They had missed his swerve and had overrun. 
 
 But their devilish play was not yet done. 
 
" DONE 
 
 319 
 
For a minute he ran and heard no sound, 
 
 Then a whimper came from a questing hound, 
 
 Then a "This way, beauties," and then "Leu Leu," 
 
 The floating laugh of the horn that blew. 
 
 Then the cry again and the crash and rattle 
 
 Of the shrubs burst back as they ran to battle. 
 
 Till the wood behind seemed risen from root. 
 
 Crying and crashing to give pursuit, 
 
 Till the trees seemed hounds and the air seemed cry, 
 
 And the earth so far that he needs but die, 
 
 Die where he reeled in the woodland dim 
 
 With a hound's white grips in the spine of him ; 
 
 For one more burst he could spurt, and then 
 
 Wait for the teeth, and the wrench, and men. 
 Y 321 
 
322 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 He made his spurt for the Mourne End rocks, 
 
 The air blew rank with the taint of fox ; 
 
 The yews gave way to a greener space 
 
 Of great stones strewn in a grassy place. 
 
 And there was his earth at the great grey shoulder, 
 
 Sunk in the ground, of a granite boulder 
 
 A dry deep burrow with rocky roof, 
 
 Proof against crowbars, terrier-proof, 
 
 Life to the dying, rest for bones. 
 
 The earth was stopped ; it was filled with stones. 
 
 Then, for a moment, his courage failed. 
 
 His eyes looked up as his body quailed, 
 
 Then the coming of death, which all things dread, 
 
 Made him run for the wood ahead. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 323 
 
 <H| 
 
 The taint of fox was rank on the air, 
 
 He knew, as he ran, there were foxes there. 
 
 His strength was broken, his heart was bursting, 
 
 His bones were rotten, his throat was thirsting. 
 
 His feet were reeling, his brush was thick 
 
 From dragging the mud, and his brain was 
 
 sick. 
 He thought as he ran of his old delight 
 
324 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 In the wood in the moon in an April night, 
 His happy hunting, his winter loving. 
 The smells of things in the midnight roving ; 
 The look of his dainty-nosing, red 
 Clean-felled dam with her footpad's tread, 
 Of his sire, so swift, so game, so cunning 
 With craft in his brain and power of running, 
 Their fights of old when his teeth drew blood. 
 Now he was sick, with his coat all mud. 
 
 He crossed the covert, he crawled the bank. 
 To a meuse in the thorns and there he sank. 
 With his ears flexed back and his teeth shown white, 
 In a rat's resolve for a dying bite. 
 
PRIZE 
 
 32s 
 
And there, as he lay, he saw the vale. 
 
 That a struggling sunlight silvered pale, 
 
 The Deerlip Brook like a strip of steel, 
 
 The Nun's Wood Yews where the rabbits squeal, 
 
 The great grass square of the Roman Fort, 
 
 And the smoke in the elms at Crendon Court. 
 
 And above the smoke in the elm-tree tops. 
 Was the beech-clump's blue. Blown Hilcote Copse, 
 Where he and his mates had long made merry 
 In the bloody joys of the rabbit-herry. 
 
 And there as he lay and looked, the cry 
 
 Of the hounds at head came rousing by ; 
 
 He bent his bones in the blackthorn dim. 
 
 327 
 
328 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 But the cry of the hounds was not for him, 
 
 Over the fence with a crash they went, 
 
 Belly to grass, with a burning scent, 
 
 Then came Dansey, yelling to Bob, 
 
 "They've changed, O damn it, now here's a job." 
 
 And Bob yelled back, "Well, we cannot turn 'em. 
 
 It's Jumper and Antic, Tom ; we'll learn 'em. 
 
 We must just go on, and I hope we kill." 
 
 They followed hounds down the Mourne End 
 
 Hill. 
 The fox lay still in the rabbit-meuse. 
 On the dry brown dust of the plumes of yews. 
 In the bottom below a brook went by. 
 Blue, in a patch, like a streak of sky. 
 There, one by one, with a clink of stone. 
 Came a red or dark coat on a horse half blown. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 329 
 
 And man to man with a gasp for breath 
 Said, "Lord, what a run. I'm fagged to death." 
 
 After an hour, no riders came, 
 
 The day drew by Hke an ending game ; 
 
 A robin sang from a pufft red breast, 
 
 The fox lay quiet and took his rest. 
 
 A wren on a tree-stump carolled clear. 
 
 Then the starlings wheeled in a sudden sheer. 
 
 The rooks came home to the twiggy hive 
 
 In the elm-tree tops which the winds do drive. 
 
 Then the noise of the rooks fell slowly still. 
 
 And the lights came out in the Clench Brook 
 
 Mill 
 Then a pheasant cocked, then an owl began 
 With the cry that curdles the blood of man. 
 
And man to man with a gasp for breath 
 
 Said, " Lord, what a run. I'm fagged to death." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 331 
 
 The stars grew bright as the yews grew black, 
 The fox rose stiffly and stretched his back. 
 He flaired the air, then he padded out 
 To the valley below him dark as doubt, 
 Winter-thin with the young green crops. 
 For Old Cold Crendon and Hilcote Copse. 
 
HOAIE 
 
 333 
 
As he crossed the meadows at Naunton Larking, 
 The dogs in the town all started barking. 
 For with feet all bloody and flanks all foam, 
 The hounds and the hunt were limping home ; 
 Limping home in the dark, dead-beaten. 
 The hounds all rank from a fox they'd eaten, 
 Dansey saying to Robin Dawe, 
 "The fastest and longest I ever saw." 
 And Robin answered, "O Tom, 'twas good, 
 
 335 
 
For with feet all bloody and flanks all foam. 
 The hounds and the hunt were limping home. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX ^^^j 
 
 I thought they'd changed in the Mourne End 
 
 Wood, 
 But now I feel that they did not change. 
 We've had a run that was great and strange ; 
 And to kill in the end, at dusk, on grass. 
 We'll turn to the Cock and take a glass. 
 For the hounds, poor souls, are past their forces. 
 And a gallon of ale for our poor horses, 
 And some bits of bread for the hounds, poor things. 
 After all they've done (for they've done like 
 
 kings), 
 Would keep them going till we get in. 
 We had it alone from Nun's Wood Whin." 
 Then Tom replied, "If they changed or not, 
 There've been few runs longer and none more hot. 
 We shall talk of to-day until we die." 
 
338 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 The stars grew bright in the winter sky, 
 The wind came keen with a tang of frost, 
 The brook was troubled for new things lost, 
 The copse was happy for old things found, 
 The fox came home and he went to ground. 
 And the hunt came home and the hounds were 
 
 fed, 
 They climbed to their bench and went to bed. 
 The horses in stable loved their straw. 
 "Good-night, my beauties," said Robin Dawe. 
 
 Then the moon came quiet and flooded full 
 Light and beauty on clouds like wool. 
 On a feasted fox at rest from hunting. 
 In the beech wood grey where the brocks were 
 grunting. 
 
ti 
 
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 '■IHk, HOUNDS AND THE HUNT WERE LIMPING HOME; 
 LIMPING HOME IN THE DARK DEAU-HEA TEN.- 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 339 
 
 The beech wood grey rose dim in the night 
 With moonlight fallen in pools of light, 
 The long dead leaves on the ground were rimed. 
 A clock struck twelve and the church-bells chimed. 
 
 Printed in the United States of America. 
 
li^b^im FamBy Library of Veterinary Medww 
 2iiniining8 School of Vetennaty Medicine al 
 
 Tufts Universrty 
 
 200 Westbofo Road 
 
 North Grafton MA 01536