William Henry Ogilvie

Here you will find the Poem English Grass of poet William Henry Ogilvie

English Grass

Come, horsemen all, from every field 
And taste this rare delight, 
And see what English pastures yield 
To those whose hearts beat right! 
Come, haste and quaff the stirrup-cup! 
Turn down the empty glass! 
The horn is blown, the hunt is up, 
And here's our English grass!
And here are foxes swift to find 
And fences strong to break, 
And here are doubles steep and blind 
That try the best to take, 
And dappled hounds to keep in sight 
And rivals you must pass 
Before the long December night 
Enshrouds the English grass! 
And think it not a lightsome thing 
Or feat to wake your scorn 
To follow where the Pytchley swing 
Or lead them with the Quorn ; 
For men have hacked the mulga trail 
And packed the mountain pass, 
Yet found the boldest heart may fail 
To ride the English grass.
The meadows stretch from stream to stream, 
Close-bitten, firm, and sound; 
No stubble stands, no plough man's team
Rips up the ravaged ground; 
But level far as eye can see 
Like smooth green-tinted glass, 
A battle-ground for bravery, 
Is spread the English grass.
Though thorns be thick, though binders lace, 
Though stout be stile and rail, 
Though nought but blood can live the pace, 
And nought but pluck prevail, 
The call's to all, the field is fair 
To every creed and class; 
So draw your girths, all ye who dare, 
And ride the English grass!