The Queen's Hounds and Stag-hunting Recollections: With an Introduction on the Hereditary Mastership, by Edward Burrows, Comp. from the Brocas Papers in His PossessionLongmans, Green, and Company, 1897 - 315 oldal |
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animal Ascot Ascot Heath Berkshire Bernard Brocas better blood bred breed Buckhounds called century Chantilly Charles Davis coat Colonel colour course Court Cumberland Lodge Davis's deer ditch Drag-hunt Duke England English favourite fence field forest hunting fox-hunting foxhound France French friends G. D. Giles gallop Gascon gentlemen George George III give Goodall harriers Harrow country Harry King havier Hawthorn Hill hereditary honour horse horseman House huntsman Jem Mason jump kennel King King's Lady Ligniville look Lord Cork Lord Granville Lord Hervey Manor mare Master Mastership miles never occasion once pack paddocks Park Pexall picture Queen's country Queen's Hounds race remember ridden rider riding rode ROYAL HUNT scarlet scent season Sir Bernard Brocas sort sport stag stag-hunting staghounds stud Swinley tells things tion told took Vénerie Veneur whip William Windsor writes yards
Népszerű szakaszok
56. oldal - Kates, and Jennies, All the names that banish care ; Lavish of your grandsire's guineas, Show the spirit of an heir. "All that prey on vice and folly Joy to see their quarry fly : There the gamester, light and jolly, There the lender, grave and sly.
46. oldal - He was not only sightless — he became utterly deaf. All light, all reason, all sound of human voices, all the pleasures of this world of God, were taken from him. Some slight lucid moments he had ; in one of which, the queen, desiring to see him, entered the room, and found him singing a hymn, and accompanying himself at the harpsichord. When he had finished, he knelt down and prayed aloud for her, and then for his family, and then for the nation, concluding...
230. oldal - Then shalt thou know beauty but lent, And wish and want as I have done. Now cease, my lute, this is the last Labour, that thou and I shall waste; And ended is that we begun : Now is this song both sung and past; My lute, be still, for I have done.
163. oldal - Off the curdled sky. 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...
31. oldal - How regular ! how just ! and all his cares Are well repaid, if mighty George approve — So model thou thy pack, if honour touch Thy generous soul, and the world's just applause.
29. oldal - tis a most pretty show ! Through Cheapside and Fenchurch Street, and so to Aldgate pump, Each man 's with 's spurs in 's horse's sides, and his back-sword cross his rump. My lord he takes a staff in hand to beat the bushes o'er ; I must confess it was a work he ne'er had done before. A creature bounceth from a bush, which made them all to laugh ; My lord he cried, A hare ! a hare ! but it proved an Essex calf.
110. oldal - Than reign in this horrible place. 1 am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech; I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.
164. oldal - By cunning breeding and choosing, through long centuries, man has combined both, and has created the fox-hound, lion and fawn in one ; just as he might create noble human beings, did he take half as much trouble about politics (in the true old sense of the word) as he does about fowls. Look at that old hound, who stands doubtful, looking up at his master for advice. Look at the severity, delicacy, lightness of every curve. His head is finer than a deer's ; his...
163. oldal - Fill the marsh with snipe ; While on dreary moorlands Lonely curlew pipe. Through the black fir forest Thunder harsh and dry, Shattering down the snow-flakes Off the curdled sky. Hark ! the brave North-Easter, Breast-high lies the scent, On by holt and headland, Over heath and bent.
139. oldal - In thee alone, fair land of liberty ! Is bred the perfect hound, in scent and speed As yet unrivall'd, while in other climes Their virtue fails, a weak degenerate race.