Page:Lyra heroica.djvu/287

 Hark ! The brave North-easter !

Breast-high lies the scent, On by holt and headland,

Over heath and bent. Chime, ye dappled darlings,

Through the sleet and snow. Who can over-ride you?

Let the horses go ! Chime, ye dappled darlings,

Down the roaring blast; You shall see a fox die

Ere an hour be past. Go ! and rest to-morrow,

Hunting in your dreams, While our skates are ringing

O'er the frozen streams. Let the luscious South-wind

Breathe in lovers' sighs, While the lazy gallants

Bask in ladies' eyes. What does he but soften

Heart alike and pen? 'Tis the hard grey weather

Breeds hard Knglish men. What's the soft South-wester?

'Tis the ladies' breeze, Bringing home their true-loves

Out of all the seas: But the black North-easter,

Through the snowstorm hurled, Drives our Knglish hearts of oak

Seaward round the world.

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