THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 PAUL TURNER, U.S.M.C.R. 
 
 KILLED IN ACTION, SAIPAN 
 
 JUNE, 1944 
 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NKW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO DALLAS 
 ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED 
 
 LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. 
 
 TORONTO 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 OR 
 THE GHOST HEATH RUN 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE EVERLASTING MERCY," "THE WIDOW 
 IN THE BYE STREET," ETC. 
 
 ff orfc 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1919 
 
 All rightt retervtd 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1919, 
 BY JOHN MA8EFIELD. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1919. 
 
 Xorfoooti 
 
 J. S. Gushing Co. Berwick & Smith Co. 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
Pfi. 
 
 PART I 
 
 602593 
 
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, 
 And there that morning came the hunt, 
 To fill that quiet width of road 
 3 
 
4 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 5 
 
 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 ramp- 
 ings 
 To see the horse in the next stall. ' 
 
 Outside, the spangled cock did call 
 To scattering grain that Martha flung. 
 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 bright- 
 ening 
 
 Rings and bits with dips of whitening, 
 Rubbing fox-flecks out of stirrups, 
 
6 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 
 
 Which put the gleam on flap and tirrit. 
 
 The grooms in shirts with rolled-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," 
 
 "Stand over, girl; now, girl, ha' done." 
 
 " Now, boy, no snapping ; gently. Crikes 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 7 
 
 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 
 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 
 
8 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 
 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. 
 
 At twenty past, old Baldock strode 
 
 His ploughman's straddle down the road. 
 
 An old man with a gaunt, burnt face ; 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 9 
 
 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 
 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." 
 
10 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 11 
 
 And teased them: "Rats"; they cried, "go 
 
 fetch." 
 
 "Go seek, good Roxer; 'z bite, good betch. 
 What dinner-beer '11 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." 
 
 A pommle cob came trotting up 
 
 Round-bellied like a drinking-cup 
 
 Bearing on back a pommle man 
 
 Round-bellied like a drinking-can. 
 
 The clergyman from Condicote. 
 
 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 
 
12 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Though indolent in other matters 
 He let his children go in tatters. 
 
 His daughter Madge on foot, flush-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) 
 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 hi undertones together 
 Not of the hunting, nor the weather. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 13 
 
 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 
 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 Pym, 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, 
 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 
 
14 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 then* 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 
 There'm Mr. Gaunt of Water's Hook. 
 They say he" . . . (whispered). "Law," 
 
 said Jane. 
 
 Gaunt flung his heel across the mane, 
 And slithered 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 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 15 
 
 Come 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. 
 
 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 
 
16 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
 A waistcoat cut of hunting red, 
 
 Her tie pin was a fox's head. 
 
 The parson was a manly one 
 
 His jolly eyes were bright with fun. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 17 
 
 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, 
 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," 
 c 
 
18 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 19 
 
 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 pennji 
 Sing ragtime songs and win at tprfnis 
 The silver-cigarette-case-prize. 
 They had good colour and bright eyes, 
 Bright hair, bright teeth and pretty skin, 
 Which many lads had longed to win 
 On darkened stairways after dances. 
 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. 
 Old Farmer Bennett followed these 
 Upon his big-boned savage black 
 Whose mule-teeth yellowed to bite back 
 
20 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Whatever came within his reach. 
 Old Bennett sat him like a leech 
 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.' 
 
 That's what he said, the bloody liar ; 
 
 Old oaf, I'd like to burn his ricks, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 21 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
22 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 23 
 
 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, 
 
 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. 
 
24 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 The Squire set the greatest store 
 
 By Carrie, youngest of the three, 
 
 And lovely to the blood was she ; 
 
 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. 
 
 A lily is not sweet from learning. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 25 
 
 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 Jane'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. 
 
 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. 
 
26 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 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 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 27 
 
 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?" 
 
 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 hi 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), 
 
 Moustache clipped toothbrush- wise, and jaws 
 
 Shaved bluish like old partridge claws. 
 
28 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 When he had stripped his coat he made 
 A speckless presence for parade, 
 New pink, white cords, and glossy tops 
 New gloves, the newest thing in crops, 
 Worn with an air that well expressed 
 His sense that no one else was dressed. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 tune he had had to see 
 
 Each person there, sans clothes, sans mask, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 29 
 
 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, 
 
 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. 
 
30 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 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 boy,s 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 31 
 
 Next came the Colway's pony cart 
 From Coin St. Evelyn's with the party 
 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. 
 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 
 
32 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 The horses being bickering things, 
 That so much scarlet made like kings, 
 Such sidling and such pawing and shifting. 
 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 33 
 
 And Polly was a golden pleasure 
 To everyone, to see or hear. 
 
 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. 
 
 The Riddens came, from Ocle Covers, 
 Bill Ridden riding Stormalong, 
 (By Tempest out of Love-me-long) 
 
34 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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), 
 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 35 
 
 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, 
 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 
 
 Was sweet with thought and proud with race, 
 
 And bright with joy at riding there. 
 
 She was as good as blowing air 
 
36 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 37 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
38 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Two days before, which put his mouth 
 A little to the east of south. 
 And put a venom in his laughter. 
 
 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 39 
 
 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, 
 
 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. 
 
40 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 breed- 
 ing, 
 
 His querulous mind was quaint from reading, 
 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 wandering, swift yet solemn, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 41 
 
 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 merry, and his great voice mocked 
 His young friends present till they rocked. 
 
 Steer Harpit came from Rowell Hill, 
 A small, frail man, all heart and will, 
 A sailor as his voice betrayed. 
 
42 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 43 
 
 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, 
 (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 
 
44 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Was there (old Henry Ilsley drove), 
 Carlotta Ilsley brought her love 
 A flop-jowled broker from the city. 
 Men pitied her, for she was pretty. 
 
 Some grooms and second horsemen mus- 
 tered. 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 45 
 
 Tough as a hide-rope twisted hard, 
 Tense tiger-sinew knit 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. 
 
 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. 
 
46 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 From pricking ears to mincing feet 
 She was all tense with blood and quiver 
 You saw her clipt 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 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 47 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 Said "Hello, Ock" or "Morning, Pete; 
 Be you a going to a wedding?" 
 "Why, noa," they said, "we'm going a bed- 
 ding; 
 Now ben't us, uncle, ben't us, Ock?" 
 
48 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 ; 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 49 
 
 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, 
 
 Blew trumpets to the newe moon. 
 
 He was a bachelor, from choice. 
 
 He and his nephew farmed the B'oyce 
 
 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?" 
 
60 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 51 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
52 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 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 Tall 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 53 
 
 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, 
 
 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, 
 
54 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Slow-lifting crop-thong to the rim, 
 No hunter there got more from him 
 Except some brightening of the eye. 
 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 gri- 
 mace, 
 
 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 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 55 
 
 With stag-like eyes that seemed to smoulder. 
 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 flesh 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. 
 
56 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 57 
 
 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). 
 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. 
 
58 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 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 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 59 
 
 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, 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. 
 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, 
 
60 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 61 
 
 A courage terrible to see 
 And mercy for his enemy. 
 
 He had a clean-shaved face, but kept 
 
 A hedge of whisker neatly clipt, 
 
 A narrow strip or picture frame 
 
 (Old Dawe, the woodman, did the same), 
 
 Under his chin from ear to ear. 
 
 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, 
 
62 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 There was the Master in the trap, 
 Clutching old Roman in his lap, 
 Old Roman, crazy for his brothers, 
 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 63 
 
 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 sent him at it like a flier, 
 And lived with hounds while horses 
 
 could. 
 
64 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 "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." 
 
 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 go- 
 ing." 
 
 Now, at his word, the tide was flowing 
 Off went Maroon, off went the hounds, 
 Down road, then off, to Chols Elm Grounds, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 65 
 
 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 
 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 
 
66 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 67 
 
 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, 
 "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, 
 
68 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 About Miss Lou it was, or Carrie 
 (She'd be a pretty peach to marry)." 
 
 "Her'll draw up-wind, so us'll 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, 
 On Ghost Heath turf they trotted fast. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 69 
 
 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 discover 
 
 What chance there was, and many a token 
 
 Told him, that though no hound had 
 
 spoken, 
 
 Most of them stirred to something there. 
 The old hounds' muzzles searched the air, 
 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." 
 
70 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 cookings ; 
 A scut or two lopped white to bramble. 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 71 
 
 The whips crept to the sides to view ; 
 The Master gave the nod, and "Leu, 
 Leu in, Ed-hoick, Ed-hoick, Leu in," 
 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, 
 "0 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 
 
72 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. " 
 The mild horn's note, the soft flaked spark 
 Of music, fell on that rank scent. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 73 
 
 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 II 
 
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 
 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. 
 77 
 
78 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 
 Marbled green with the blobby strips. 
 He saw the farms where the dogs were bark- 
 ing, 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 79 
 
 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 needfully ; 
 Partridges in the clover stubble, 
 Crouched in a ring for the stoat to nubble. 
 Rabbit bucks beginning to box ; 
 
 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 drum- 
 ming, 
 
 For somewhere out by Ghost Heath Stubs 
 Was a roving vixen wanting cubs. 
 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. 
 
80 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 meuses, 
 Past Clench St. Michael and Naunton Crucis, 
 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 Bar- 
 rows; 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 81 
 
 And away and away with a rolling scramble, 
 Through the blackthorn and up the bramble, 
 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 Jjinney, 
 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 
 
82 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Crowed from his perch for dawn again, 
 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. 
 
 Before the dawn he had loved and fed 
 And found a kennel and gone to bed 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 83 
 
 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 
 The rooks went out to the plough and 
 
 straddled, 
 
 Straddled wide on the moist red cheese, 
 Of the furrows driven at Uppat's Leas. 
 
84 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 
 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 85 
 
 Cows in a byre, and distant men, 
 
 And Condicote church-clock striking ten. 
 
 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. 
 
 He rose and stretched till the claws in his 
 
 * 
 pads 
 
 Stuck hornily 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 
 
86 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
 i 
 Trying to test what foes he had. 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 87 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
88 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 pres- 
 ent. 
 
 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, 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 89 
 
 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) 
 That the native fox should have the danger. 
 Danger was coming, so swift, so swift, 
 That the pace of his trot began to lift 
 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 
 
90 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 91 
 
 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. 
 
 The fox drew in and flaired with his muzzle. 
 
 f 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
92 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 93 
 
 And the shriek told Tom on the raking bay 
 That for eighteen pence he was gone away. 
 
 He ran in the hedge in the triple growth 
 Of bramble and hawthorn, glad of both, 
 Till a couple of fields were past, and then 
 Came the living death of the dread of men. 
 
 Then, as he listened, he heard a "Hoy," 
 Tom Dansey's horn and "Awa-wa-woy." 
 Then all hounds crying with all then* 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 
 
94 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 With a head like bees upon Tipple Tine. 
 The sound of the nearness sent a flood 
 Of terror of death through the fox's blood. 
 He upped his brush and he cocked his nose, 
 And he went up wind as a racer goes. 
 
 Bold Robin Dawe was over first, 
 
 Cheering his hounds on at the'burst ; 
 
 The field were spurring to be in it 
 
 "Hold hard, sirs, give them half a minute," 
 
 Came from Sir Peter on his white. 
 
 The hounds went romping with delight 
 
 Over the grass and got together ; 
 
 The tail hounds galloped hell-for-leather 
 
 After the pack at Myngs's yell ; 
 
 A cry like every kind of bell 
 
 Rang from these rompers as they raced. 
 
 The riders thrusting to be placed, 
 Jammed down their hats and shook their 
 horses, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 95 
 
 The hounds romped past with all their 
 
 forces, 
 
 They crashed into the blackthorn fence ; 
 The scent was heavy on their sense, 
 So hot it seemed the living thing, 
 It made the blood within them sing, 
 Gusts of it made their hackles rise, 
 Hot gulps of it were agonies 
 
 Of joy, and thirst for blood, and passion. 
 
 
 
 "Forrard," cried Robin, " that's the 
 
 fashion." 
 
 He raced beside his pack to cheer. 
 The field's noise died upon his ear, 
 A faint horn, far behind, blew thin 
 In cover, lest some hound were in. 
 Then instantly the great grass rise 
 Shut field and cover from his eyes, 
 He and his racers were alone. 
 " A dead fox or a broken bone, " 
 Said Robin, peering for his prey. 
 
96 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 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." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 97 
 
 The hunt 
 
 Followed down hill to race with him, 
 White Rabbit with his swallow's skim, 
 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." 
 
 
 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 : 
 
98 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Then Squire volleying oaths and vext, 
 Fighting his hunter for refusing : 
 Bell Ridden like a cutter cruising 
 Sailing the grass, then Cob on Warder 
 Then Minton Price upon Marauder ; 
 Ock Gurney 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 99 
 
 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. 
 
 Nearer, were twigs knocked into kindling, 
 A much bashed fence still dropping stick, 
 Flung clods, still quivering from the kick, 
 
100 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 101 
 
 This fox is running like a hart, 
 
 And this is going to be a run. 
 
 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 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 t 
 
102 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 "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, 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 103 
 
 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 
 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. 
 
 ji 
 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 
 
104 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 up- 
 stream." 
 
 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, 
 This jumping brook's a mucky job." 
 He muttered, grinning, "Lord, poor cob. 
 Now sir, let me." He turned to Squire 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 105 
 
 And cleared his hunter from the mire 
 By skill and sense and strength of arm. 
 
 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, 
 Raced up the spur of Gallows Hill 
 And viewed him there. The line he took 
 
106 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 
 Running, and straddling as he ran. 
 Charles Copse was up, Nob Manor fol- 
 lowed, 
 
 Then Bennett's big-boned black that wal- 
 lowed 
 Clumsy, but with the strength of ten. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 107 
 
 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, 
 
 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, 
 
 108 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 109 
 
 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, 
 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, 
 
110 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Down the dead grass tilt to the sandstone 
 
 gash 
 
 Of the Pantry Brook at Tineton Ash. 
 The loitering water, flooded full, 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 111 
 
 He slackened pace by the Tineton Tree, 
 (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 
 
112 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, 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 113 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
114 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 115 
 
 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 bearing, 
 And rushed like a blown ship billow-sharing. 
 
 Off Tineton Common to Tineton Dean, 
 Where the wind-hid elders pushed with green : 
 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 hunted ; where be hounds ? 
 O lord, my back, to be young again, 
 'Stead a zellin zider in King of Spain. 
 hark, I hear 'em, O sweet, sweet. 
 Why there be redcoat in Gearge's wheat. 
 And there be redcoat, and there they gallop. 
 Thur go a browncoat down a wallop. 
 
116 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 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 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 117 
 
 In the thin green Dean where the pines were 
 
 growing. 
 Black coats and brown coats thrusting and 
 
 spurring 
 
 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, 
 Granfer 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, 
 
118 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Grey ghosts of trees under funeral plumes, 
 
 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 ; 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 119 
 
 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. 
 
120 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 The fox swerved left and scrambled out 
 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 Hinton 
 
 smoke, 
 
 Along Long Hinton to Hinton Green, 
 Where the wind-washed steeple stood serene 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 121 
 
 With its golden bird still sailing air, 
 Past Banner Barton, past Chipping Bare, 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
122 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Up went Skylark as Antic sped 
 It was zest to blood how they carried head. 
 Skylark drooped 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 be- 
 fore 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 ; 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 123 
 
 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 prink- 
 ing 
 
 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, 
 Too deep for spade, too curved for terrier, 
 
124 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 125 
 
 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, 
 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. 
 
126 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 127 
 
 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, 
 
 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. 
 
128 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 And here, as he ran to the huntsman's yell- 
 ing, 
 
 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, 
 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 
 With taggles of mud, and his pads seemed 
 
 lead, 
 It was well for him he'd an earth ahead. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 129 
 
 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, 
 
 He slipped as he leaped the hedge; he 
 
 slithered ; 
 "He's mine," thought Robin. "He's done; 
 
 he's dithered." 
 
130 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 131 
 
 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. 
 
 With the 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, 
 
132 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 
 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," 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 133 
 
 The terrier pup attacked with a will, 
 
 So the fox swerved right and away down hill. 
 
 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 
 
134 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. 
 
 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. 
 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 ; 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 135 
 
 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, 
 
 Then out of the ditch and down the meadow, 
 Trotting at ease in the blackthorn shadow 
 
136 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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 Morton 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," 
 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 JoyfuPs 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 : 
 137 
 
138 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Sir Peter, on White Rabbit stained 
 Red from the brooks, Bill Ridden cheery, 
 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 
 The swamp, all choked with bright green grass 
 And clumps of rush and pools like glass, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 139 
 
 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 
 
 muttered. 
 
 A pheasant rose. A rabbit scuttered. 
 Men mopped their scarlet cheeks and drank. 
 
 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. 
 
140 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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," 
 Said Robin, eager at their joy. 
 "Yooi, Joyful, lad, yooi, Cornerboy. 
 They're on to him." 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 141 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
142 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 "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. 
 
 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. 
 
 143 
 
144 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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." 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 145 
 
 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 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 ; 
 
146 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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." 
 "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. 
 
 He pushed through the reeds which cracked 
 at his passing, 
 
 To the High Clench Water, a grey pool glass- 
 ing, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 147 
 
 He heard Bill Ripple in Cheddesdon road, 
 Shout, "This way, huntsman, it's here he 
 
 goed." 
 
 \ 
 
 The Leu Leu Leu went the soft horn's laugh- 
 ter, 
 
 The hounds (they had checked) came romp- 
 ing 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 
 
148 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 The Blood Brook's shallows to sheets that 
 
 glittered ; 
 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." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 149 
 
 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 ; 
 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 
 
150 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 The world of men where a fox was going ; 
 The fields all empty, dead grass, bare hedges, 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 151 
 
 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, 
 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, 
 Jf 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. 
 
152 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 Three hundred yards, and the worst was 
 
 past, 
 
 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 
 And the wood-hedge still was a hundred 
 yards. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 153 
 
 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. 
 
 Still, as he ran, his pads slipped back, 
 All his strength seemed to draw the pack, 
 
154 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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, 
 
 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." 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 155 
 
 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. 
 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 
 
156 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 They've over-run him. Come up, the Dane, 
 But I'll kill him yet, if we ride to Spam." 
 
 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. 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 157 
 
 The fox knew well as he ran the dark, 
 
 That the headlong hounds were past their 
 mark 
 
 They had missed his swerve and had over- 
 run. 
 
 But their devilish play was not yet done. 
 
 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 
 
158 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 159 
 
 Then the coining of death, which all things 
 
 dread, 
 Made him run for the wood ahead. 
 
 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 burst- 
 ing 
 
 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 
 In the wood hi 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 
 
160 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 161 
 
 Where he and his mates had long made 
 
 merry 
 In the bloody joys of the rabbi t-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. 
 
 B'ut 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. 
 
162 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 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. 
 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 like 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 163 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 As he crossed the meadows at Naunton Lark- 
 ing, 
 
 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, 
 
164 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 "The fastest and longest I ever saw." 
 And Robin answered, "O Tom, 'twas good, 
 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, 
 
REYNARD THE FOX 165 
 
 There Ve been few runs longer and none more 
 
 hot, 
 We shall talk of to-day until we die." 
 
 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, 
 
166 REYNARD THE FOX 
 
 In the beech wood grey where the brocks 
 were grunting. 
 
 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. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 JUN1 61349 
 JUL 2 1953 
 
 .H& 8 195f 
 APR 4 195S 
 APR 1 8 1955 
 
 2 o 1960" 
 
 Form L9 15m-10,'48(B1039)444 
 
PR 
 6025 
 M37r 
 1919