Classic Poem

The gentlemen of Ayrshire met of late,
In solemn convocation, to debate
The scarcity of foxes in the shire,
And how they might their tenantry inspire
To foster Reynard's persecuted race;
So that the ancient glories of the chase
Might be revived, and they who own the soil —
But may not till it — find the lordlier toil.

The Kennedy, whose fathers ruled of yore
From Cree to Doon, came from the Carrick shore,
And shed time-honour'd lustre from the Chair.
That letter'd knight, Kilkerran, was not there —
At least in body; but his written page
Spoke on the weighty subject like a sage
There came the doughty squire of Auchincruive,
Shrewd in debate, and eloquent to move;
Ready to throw his counsel in the scale
When great Montgomerie broach'd the mournful tale —
For the Montgomerie, from his sweet domain
By Irving's placid stream, came to explain
Their lamentable plight. By him 'twas shown
That, out of nine-and-twenty litters known,
Only eighteen were found! And all agreed
It was a lamentable plight indeed:
Of nine-and-twenty litters, eighteen found!
Eleven vanished wholly from the ground!

" Shame, shame! " cried Auchincruive; " but by my thumb!
We'll have no lack of them in time to come
It rests, my lords and gentlemen, with us;
And little more is left us to discuss.
We have our keepers; let them clearly know
That foxes must be had, or keepers go . "

But some conceived that, in this weaken'd age,
The law of kindness seems to be the rage;
And some that, where the lion's valour fails,
The fox's sly diplomacy prevails.
So that, instead of measures to coerce,
They quite agreed to something the reverse:
In short to give a dinner or a ball —
One in Kilmarnock, one in Ayr — to all
Their keepers, and their tenantry whose bounds
Lie in the circuit of the hunted grounds; —
A novel plan; but, with my simple eyes,
I cannot see wherein its virtue lies;
Unless, my lords, your foxes to increase,
You mean to turn your tenants into geese.

And now, my lords and squires, I have a plan,
Which I will state as briefly as I can. —
In all new countries, ere the axe and spade
Have come, their wastes and jungles to invade,
There's rowth of foxes, wolves, or other species —
Crafty and fierce as keenest sportsman's wishes.
But just as civilisation creeps apace,
The wild-beast and the wilderness give place
To docile cow, mild sheep, and fertile field,
And happy labour with its cosy bield ,
To evening books beside the glowing hearth;
Schools, kirks — in short, a re-created earth;
Though such as must be tame and common-place,
For want of foxes and the headlong chase.

Now, would you have the Hunt regain its sway,
Reverse , my lords, the order of the day.
Discourage agriculture, farmers' clubs;
Let turnpike roads run into ruts and dubs;
Treat all improvements as invading foes;
Forbid those annual agricultural shows,
And all new-fangled notions about breeding,
Rearing of sheep and cattle, housing, feeding:
Make foxes' burrows of the parish schools,
And have no more half-educated fools:
Snub editors, and put the press in fetters;
Crush penny papers and the love of letters,
That teach the poor to criticise their betters
That arch reformer, Burns — destroy his name,
And from that lowly hearth put out the flame
Which brings the pilgrim corners of the earth
To worship at the shrine that gave him birth —
Enough itself to scare the fox away,
And keep the good old envied Past at bay
Rub from your peasants brains his songs and sonnets,
And soon, my lords, they'll cease to cock their bonnets:
Then ply them well with balls, strong drink, and dinners,
And at discretion use the captured sinners.

Then will the noble wilderness of old,
The golden age — if not the age of gold —
With all its glory come again; and soon
The Irvine, Lugar, Afton, Ayr, and Doon
Forget the marvellous strains that Robin sang,
And learn again their old forgotten clang —
The anthem of the forests and the rocks,
The boar, the wolf, the badger, and the fox;
And you, the enlighten'd gentlemen of Ayr,
Crab-like, progress to what your fathers were.