Classic Poem

When faintly gleams the doubtful day,
Ere yet the dew drops on the thorn
Burrow a lustre from the ray
That tips with gold the dancing corn,
Health bids awake, and homage pay
To him who gave another morn.

And, well with strength his nerves to brace,
Urges the sportsman to the chase.

II.

Do we pursue the timid hare,
As trembling o'er the lawn she bounds?
Still of her safety have we care,
While seeming death her steps surrounds,
We the defenceless creature spare,
And instant stop the well taught hounds:

For cruelty should ne'er disgrace
The well-earn'd pleasure of the chase.

III.

Do we pursue the subtle fox,
Still let him breaks and rivers try,
Through marshes wade, or climb the rocks,
The deep-mouth'd hounds shall following fly,
And while he every danger mocks,
Unpitied shall the culprit die:

To quell this cruel, artful race,
Is labour worthy of the chase.

IV.

Return'd, with shaggy spoils well stor'd,
To our convivial joys at night,
We toast, and first our country's lord,
Anxious who most shall do him right;
The fair next crowns the social board,
Britons should love as well as fight —

For he who slights the tender race,
Is held unworthy of the chase.