  There they were coming, mute but swift, A scarlet smear in the blackthorn rift, A white horse rising, a dark horse flying, And the hungry hounds too tense for crying. Stormcock leading, his stern spear-straight, Racing as though for a piece of plate, Little speck horsemen field on field; Then Dansey viewed him and Robin squealed A white horse rising, a dark horse flying. At the View Halloo the hounds went frantic, Back went Stormcock and up went Antic, Up went Skylark as Antic sped It was zest to blood how they carried head. Their hackles lifted, they scored to cry. The fox knew well, that before they tore him, They should try their speed on the downs before him, There were three more miles to the Wan Dyke Hill, But his heart was high, that he beat them still. The wind of the downland charmed his bones So off he went for the Sarsen Stones. The moan of the three great firs in the wind, And the Ai of the foxhounds died behind, Wind-dapples followed the hill-wind's breath On the Kill Down gorge where the Danes found death; Rose in a flock from the Kill Down Steeding. The hare leaped up from her form and swerved Swift left for the Starveall harebell-turved. On the wind-bare thorn some longtails prinking Cried sweet, as though wind blown glass were chinking. Behind came thudding and loud halloo Or a cry from hounds as they came to view. The pure clean air came sweet to his lungs, Till he thought foul scorn of those crying tongues, In a three mile more he would reach the haven In the Wan Dyke croaked on by the raven, In a three mile more he would make his berth On the hard cool floor of a Wan Dyke earth, With the pride of the race to make rest the merrier. In a three mile more he would reach his dream, So his game heart gulped and he put on steam. Like a rocket shot to a ship ashore, The lean red bolt of his body tore, Like a ripple of wind running swift on grass, Like a shadow on wheat when a cloud blows past, Like a turn at the buoy in a cutter sailing, When the bright green gleam lips white at the railing, Like the April snake whipping back to sheath, Like the gannet's hurtle on fish beneath, Like a kestrel chasing, like a sickle reaping, Like all things swooping, like all things sweeping, With his shadow beside like spinning drift. Past the gibbet-stock all stuck with nails, Where they hanged in chains what had hung at jails, Past Ashmundshowe where Ashmund sleeps, And none but the tumbling peewit weeps, Past Curlew Calling, the gaunt grey corner Where the curlew comes as a summer mourner, Past Blowbury Beacon shaking his fleece, Then down, on the mile-long green decline Where the turf's like spring and the air's like wine, Where the sweeping spurs of the downland spill Into Wan Brook Valley and Wan Dyke Hill. Reynard the fox On he went with a galloping rally Past Maesbury Clump for Wan Brook Valley, The blood in his veins went romping high, "Get on, on, on to the earth or die." The air of the downs went purely past, Till he felt the glory of going fast, Till the terror of death, though there indeed, Was lulled for a while by his pride of speed; He was romping away from hounds and hunt, He had Wan Dyke Hill and his earth in front, He would rest in safety from dog or spade; Nose between paws he would hear the shout Of the "gone to earth" to the hounds without, The whine of the hounds, and their cat feet gadding. Scratching the earth, and their breath pad-padding, He would hear the horn call hounds away, And rest in peace till another day. In one mile more he would lie at rest So for one mile more he would go his best. He reached the dip at the long droop's end And he took what speed he had still to spend. So down past Maesbury beech clump grey, That would not be green till the end of May, Where pasque flowers purple the down's grey shoulder, Past Quichelm's Keeping, past Harry's Thorn To Thirty Acre all thin with corn. As he raced the corn towards Wan Dyke Brook, The pack had view of the way he took, Robin hallooed from the downland's crest, He capped them on till they did their best. The quarter mile to the Wan Brook's brink Was raced as quick as a man can think. And here, as he ran to the huntsman's yelling, The fox first felt that the pace was telling, His body and lungs seemed all grown old, His legs less certain, his heart less bold, The hound-noise nearer, the hill slope steeper, His pride in his speed, his joy in the race Were withered away, for what use was pace? He had run his best, and the hounds ran better. Then the going worsened, the earth was wetter. Then his brush drooped down till it sometimes dragged, And his fur felt sick and his chest was tagged It was well for him he'd an earth ahead. Down he went to the brook and over, Out of the corn and into the clover, Over the slope that the Wan Brook drains, Past Battle Tump where they earthed the Danes, Then up the hill that the Wan Dyke rings Where the Sarsen Stones stand grand like kings. Then his brush drooped down till it sometimes dragged Seven Sarsens of granite grim, As he ran them by they looked at him; As he leaped the lip of their earthen paling The hounds were gaining and he was failing. He passed the Sarsens, he left the spur, He pressed up hill to the blasted fir, "He's mine," thought Robin. "He's done; he's dithered." At the second attempt he cleared the fence, He turned half right where the gorse was dense, He was leading hounds by a furlong clear. He was past his best, but his earth was near. He ran up gorse, to the spring of the ramp, The steep green wall of the dead men's camp, He sidled up it and scampered down To the deep green ditch of the dead men's town. Within, as he reached that soft green turf, The wind, blowing lonely, moaned like surf, Desolate ramparts rose up steep, On either side, for the ghosts to keep. He raced the trench, past the rabbit warren, Close grown with moss which the wind made barren, He passed the spring where the rushes spread, And there in the stones was his earth ahead. One last short burst upon failing feet, There life lay waiting, so sweet, so sweet, Rest in a darkness, balm for aches. The earth was stopped. It was barred with stakes. |
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