IN THE WHIM OF THE MOMENT .

The grey-ey'd Aurora, in saffron array,
'Twixt my curtains in vain took a peep,
And though broader and broader still brightened the day,
Nought could wake me, so sound did I sleep.

At length rosy Phaebus look'd full in my face,
Full and servent, but nothing would do,
Till the dogs yelp'd impatient, and long'd for the chase,
And shouting appear'd the whole crew.

Come on, yoics honies, hark forward my boys,
There ne'er was so charming a morn,
Follow, follow, wake Echo, to share in our joys —
Now the music, now echo — mark! mark! Hark! hark!
The silver-mouth'd hounds, and the mellow-ton'd horn.

II.

Fresh as that smiling morning from which they drew breath,
My companions are rang'd on the plain,
Blest with rosy contentment, that nature's best wealth,
Which monarchs aspire to in vain:

Now spirits like fire every bosom invade,
And now we in order set out,
While each neighbouring valley, rock, woodland, and glade,
Re-vollies the air-rending shout.
Come on, &c.

III.

Now renard's unearth'd, and runs fairly in view,
Now we've lost him so subtily he turns,
But the scent lies so strong, still we fearless pursue,
While each object impatiently burns:

Hark! Babler gives tongue, and Fleet, Driver, and Sly,
The fox now the covert forsakes,
Again he's in view, let us after him fly,
Now, now to the river he takes.
Come on, &c.

IV.

From the river poor renard can make but one push,
No longer so proudly he flies,
Tir'd, jaded, worn out, we are close to his brush,
And conquer'd, like Caesar, he dies.

And now in high glee to the board we repair,
Where sat, as we jovially quaff,
His portion of merit let every man share,
And promote the convivial laugh.
Come on, &c.