Sports and Pastimes Hark, hark!-who calleth the maiden Morn From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn? The horn-the horn! The merry sweet ring of the hunter's horn! Now through the copse where the fox is found 'Tis the conquering voice of the hunter's horn. The merry bold voice of the hunter's horn! Sound, sound the horn! To the hunter good When he once is firm on his horse's back, With his stirrups short and his snaffle strong, And the blast of the horn for his morning song! Hark, hark! Now home! and dream till morn Sports Of the bold sweet sound of the hunter's horn! The horn, the horn! Oh, the sound of all sounds is the hunter's horn! (Bryan Waller Procter.) and Pastimes The Blood Horse Gamarra is a dainty steed, Strong, black, and of a noble breed, Look-how 'round his straining throat Sinewy strength is in his reins, And the red blood gallops through his veins; Richer, redder, never ran Through the boasting heart of man. He can trace his lineage higher Than the Bourbon dare aspire,— Sports and Pastimes Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph, He, who hath no peer, was born, And yet, he was but friend to one, By some lone fountain fringed with green: He lived (none else would he obey BARRY CORNWALL. (Bryan Waller Procter.) The Northern Seas Up! up! let us a voyage take; I long to see the Northern Lights, Like living things, with flaming wings, Wide o'er the wondrous sky. I long to see those icebergs vast, With heads all crowned with snow; Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep, I long to hear the thundering crash And the echoes from a thousand cliffs, There shall we see the fierce white bear, And the spouting whales that to and fro There may we tread on depths of ice, That the hairy mammoth hide; And while the unsetting sun shines on We'll pass the shores of solemn pine, And away to the rocky isles of mist Sports and Pastimes Sports and Pastimes Up there shall start ten thousand wings, And there, in the wastes of the silent sky, We shall see far off to his lonely rock Then softly, softly will we tread Where the pelican of the silent North Sits there all silently. WILLIAM HOWITT. The Needle The gay belles of fashion may boast of excelling Of drawing, and painting, and musical skill Who cheerfully warbles some rustical ditty, While plying the needle with exquisite art: The bright little needle-the swift-flying needle, The needle directed by beauty and art. |