The Squire’s Chestnut Mare
A New Hunting Song
Written for the present Work by J. P. Douglas, Esq.
Away we go! my mare and I,
Over fallow and lea:
She’s carried me twenty years or nigh—
The best of friends are we.
With steady stride she sweeps along,
The old Squire on her back:
While echoes far, earth’s sweetest sound,
The music of the pack.
Ah! how they stare, both high and low,
To see the “Willey chestnut” go.
Full many a time, from dewy morn
Until the day was done,
We’ve follow’d the huntsman’s ringing horn,
Proud of a gallant run.
Well in the front, my mare and I—
A good ’un to lead is she;
For’ard, hark for’ard! still the cry—
In at the death are we.
My brave old mare—when I’m laid low
Shall never another master know.
The sailor fondly loves his ship,
The gallant loves his lass;
The toper drains with fever’d lip,
His deep, full-bottom’d glass.
Away! such hollow joys I scorn,
But give to me, I pray,
The cry of the hounds, the sounding horn,
For’ard! hark, hark away!
And this our burial chant shall be,
For the chestnut mare shall die with me!