Tetcott, 1831

Shade of the Hunter old! if aught could roam
From the dim cloisters of that shadowy home,
Where the far spirits of each severed clime,
The sad and placid, coil and bide their time,
If love survive, or memory endear,
Shade of the Hunter old ! thou would'st be here !
Oh, for the Squire that shook at break of morn,
Dew from the trees with echo of his horn !
The gathering scene, where Arscott's lightest word
Went like a trumpet to the hearts that heard !
The dogs that knew the meaning of his voice,
From the grim fox-hound to my lady's choice.
The steed that waited till his hand carest,
And old Black John that gave and bare the jest.
The good old Squire ! once more along the glen,
Oh, for the scenes of old ! the former men !
That hill's far echoes sped the starting cry,
Within yon vale the worn prey rushed to die.
Yes ! in these fields, beneath his stately form,
Dashed the wild steed with footsteps like the storm.
'Tis past ; that ivy, last of all her race,
Yields the grey dwelling from her sad embrace.
The walls ! the walls ! that felt his father's breath,
Th' accustomed room he loved so well in death,
Are lowly laid — and in their place will stand
A roof unknown — a stranger in the land.