Alas! with one that rode so well
  In vain it was to strive;
A dab was he, as dabs should be—­
  All leaping and alive!

And here of Nature’s kindly care
  Behold a curious proof,
As nags are meant to leap, she puts
  A frog in every hoof!

Whereas the mare, altho’ her share
  She had of hoof and frog,
On coming to a gate stopped short
  As stiff as any log;

Whilst Huggins in the stirrup stood
  With neck like neck of crane,
As sings the Scottish song—­“to see
  The gate his hart had gane.”

And lo! the dim and distant hunt
  Diminished in a trice: 
The steeds, like Cinderella’s team,
  Seemed dwindling into mice;

And, far remote, each scarlet coat
  Soon flitted like a spark,—­
Tho’ still the forest murmured back
  An echo of the bark!

But sad at soul John Huggins turned: 
  No comfort could he find;
While thus the “Hunting Chorus” sped,
  To stay five bars behind.

For tho’ by dint of spur he got
  A leap in spite of fate—­
Howbeit there was no toll at all,
  They could not clear the gate.

And, like Fitzjames, he cursed the hunt,
  And sorely cursed the day,
And mused a new Gray’s elegy
  On his departed gray!

Now many a sign at Woodford town
  Its Inn-vitation tells: 
But Huggins, full of ills, of course,
  Betook him to the Wells,

Where Rounding tried to cheer him up
  With many a merry laugh,
But Huggins thought of neighbor Fig,
  And called for half-and-half.

Yet, ’spite of drink, he could not blink
  Remembrance of his loss;
To drown a care like his, required
  Enough to drown a horse.

When thus forlorn, a merry horn
  Struck up without the door,—­
The mounted mob were all returned;
  The Epping Hunt was o’er!

And many a horse was taken out
  Of saddle, and of shaft;
And men, by dint of drink, became
  The only “beasts of draught.”

For now begun a harder run
  On wine, and gin, and beer;
And overtaken man discussed
  The overtaken deer.

How far he ran, and eke how fast,
  And how at bay he stood,
Deer-like, resolved to sell his life
  As dearly as he could;

And how the hunters stood aloof,
  Regardful of their lives,
And shunned a beast, whose very horns
  They knew could handle knives!

How Huggins stood when he was rubbed
  By help and ostler kind,
And when they cleaned the clay before,
  How worse “remained behind.”

And one, how he had found a horse
  Adrift—­a goodly gray! 
And kindly rode the nag, for fear
  The nag should go astray.

Now Huggins, when he heard the tale,
  Jumped up with sudden glee;
“A goodly gray! why, then, I say
  That gray belongs to me!