And now Old Robin's foes were set
That fatal taint to find,
That always is scent after him,
Yet always left behind.

And here observe how dog and man,
A different temper shows,
What hound resents that he is sent
To follow his own nose?

Towler and Jowler--howlers all,
No single tongue was mute;
The stag had led a hart, and lo!
The whole pack followed suit.

No spur he lacked, fear stuck a knife
And fork in either haunch;
And every dog he knew had got
An eye-tooth to his paunch!

Away, away! he scudded like
A ship before the gale;
Now flew to "_h_ills we know not of,"
Now, nun-like, took the vale.

Another squadron charging now,
Went off at furious pitch;--
A perfect Tam o' Shanter mob,
Without a single witch.

But who was he with flying skirts,
A hunter did endorse,
And like a poet seemed to ride
Upon a winged horse,--

A whipper-in?--no whipper-in:
A huntsman? no such soul.
A connoisseur, or amateur?
Why yes,--a Horse Patrol.

A member of police, for whom
The county found a nag,
And, like Acteon in the tale,
He found himself in stag!

Away they went then, dog and deer,
And hunters all away,--
The maddest horses never knew
_Mad staggers_ such as they!

Some gave a shout, some rolled about,
And anticked as they rode,
And butchers whistled on their curs,
And milkmen _tally-hoed_.

About two score there were, not more,
That galloped in the race;
The rest, alas! lay on the grass,
As once in Chevy Chase!

But even those that galloped on
Were fewer every minute,--
The field kept getting more select,
Each thicket served to thin it.

For some pulled up, and left the hunt,
Some fell in miry bogs,
And vainly rose and "ran a muck,"
To overtake the dogs.

And some, in charging hurdle stakes,
Were left bereft of sense--
What else could be premised of blades
That never learned to fence?

But Roundings, Tom and Bob, no gate,
Nor hedge, nor ditch, could stay;
O'er all they went, and did the work
Of leap years in a day.

And by their side see Huggins ride,
As fast as he could speed;
For, like Mazeppa, he was quite
At mercy of his steed.

No means he had, by timely check,
The gallop to remit,
For firm and fast, between his teeth,
The biter held the bit.

Trees raced along, all Essex fled
Beneath him as he sate,--
He never saw a county go
At such a county rate!

"Hold hard! hold hard! you'll lame the dogs,