John Masefield: Reynard the Fox

Lyrics

The fox was strong, he was full of running He could run for an hour and then be cunning But the cry behind him made him chill They were nearer now and they meant to kill They meant to run him until his blood Clogged on his heart as his brush with mud Till his back bent up and his tongue hung flagging And his belly and brush were filthed from dragging; Till he crouched stone-still, dead-beat and dirty With nothing but teeth against the thirty And all the way to that blinding end He would meet with men and have none his friend: Men to holloa and men to run him With stones to stagger and yells to stun him; Men to head him, with whips to beat him Teeth to mangle and mouths to eat him And all the way, that wild high crying To cold his blood with the thought of dying The horn and the cheer, and the drum-like thunder Of the horsehooves stamping the meadows under He upped his brush and went with a will For the Sarsen Stones on Wan Dyke Hill As he ran the meadow by Tineton Church A christening party left the porch; They stood stock still as he pounded by They wished him luck but they thought he'd die The toothless babe in his long white coat Looked delicate meat, the fox took note; But the sight of them grinning there, pointing finger Made him put on steam till he went a stinger Past Tineton Church, over Tineton Waste With the lolloping ease of a fox's haste The fur on his chest blown dry with the air His brush still up and his cheek-teeth bare Over the Waste, where the ganders grazed The long swift lilt of his loping lazed His ears cocked up as his blood ran higher He saw his point, and his eyes took fire The Wan Dyke Hill with its fir-tree barren Its dark of gorse and its rabbit-warren The Dyke on its heave like a tightened girth And holes in the Dyke where a fox might earth He had rabbited there long months before The earths were deep and his need was sore; The way was new, but he took a bearing And rushed like a blown ship billow-sharing Off Tineton Common to Tineton Dean Where the wind-hid elders pushed with green; Through the Dean's thin cover across the lane And up Midwinter to King of Spain Old Joe, at digging his garden grounds Said: "A fox, being hunted; where be hounds? 0 lord, my back, to be young again 'Stead a zellin' zider in King of Spain! 0 hark! I hear' em, 0 sweet, 0 sweet Why there be redcoat in Gearge's wheat And there be redcoat, and there they gallop Thur go a browncoat down a wallop Quick, Ellen, quick! Come, Susan, fly ! Here'm hounds. I zeed the fox go by Go by like thunder, go by like blasting With his girt white teeth all looking ghasting Look, there come hounds.! Hark, hear 'em crying? Lord, belly to stubble, ain't they flying! There's huntsman, there. The fox come past (As I was digging) as fast as fast He's only been gone a minute by ; A girt dark dog as pert as pye." Ellen and Susan came out scattering Brooms and dustpans till all was clattering; They saw the pack come head-to-foot Running like racers, nearly mute; Robin and Dansey quartering near All going gallop like startled deer A half-dozen flitting scarlets showing In the thin green Dean where the pines were growing Blackcoats and browncoats thrusting and spurring Sending the partridge coveys whirring Then a rattle uphill and a clop up lane It emptied the bar of the King of Spain Tom left his cider, Dick left his bitter Granfer James left his pipe and spitter ; Out they came from the sawdust floor They said, "They'm going."They said, "0 Lor' ! " The fox raced on, up the Barton Balks With a crackle of kex in the nettle stalks Over Hammond's grass to the dark green line Of the larch-wood smelling of turpentine Scratch Steven Larches, black to the sky A sadness breathing with one long sigh Grey ghosts of trees under funeral plumes A mist of twig over soft brown glooms As he entered the wood he heard the smacks Chip-jar, of the fir-pole feller's axe He swerved to the left to a broad green ride Where a boy made him rush for the farther side He swerved to the left, to the Barton Road But there were the timberers come to load Two timber-carts and a couple of carters With straps round their knees instead of garters He swerved to the right, straight down the wood The carters watched him, the boy hallooed He leaped from the larch-wood into tillage The cobbler's garden of Barton village The cobbler bent at his wooden foot Beating sprigs in a broken boot; He wore old glasses with thick horn rim He scowled at his work, for his sight was dim His face was dingy, his lips were grey From primming sparrowbills day by day As he turned his boot he heard a noise At his garden-end, and he thought, "It's boys." He saw his cat nip up on the shed Where her back arched up till it touched her head; He saw his rabbit race round and round Its little black box three feet from ground His six hens cluckered and flocked to perch "That's boys," said cobbler,"so I'll go search." He reached his stick and blinked in his wrath When he saw 'a fox in his garden path The fox swerved left and scrambled out Knocking crinked green shells from the brussels-sprout He scrambled out through the cobbler's paling And up Pill's orchard to Purton's Tailing Across the plough at the top of bent Through the heaped manure to kill his scent Over to Aldam's, up to Cappell's Past Nursery Lot with its whitewashed apples Past Colston's Broom, past Gaunt's, past Shere's Past Foxwhelps' Oasts with their hooded ears Past Monk's Ash Clerewell, past Beggars' Oak Past the great elms blue with the Hinton smoke Along Long Hinton to Hinton Green Where the wind-washed steeple stood serene With its golden bird still sailing air Past Banner Barton, past Chipping Bare Past Madding's Hollow, down Dundry Dip And up Goose Grass to the Sailing Ship The three black firs of the Ship stood still On the bare chalk heave of the Dundry Hill The fox looked back as he slackened past The scaled red-bole of the mizen-mast There they were coming, mute but swift A scarlet smear in the blackthorn rift A white horse rising, a dark horse flying And the, hungry hounds too tense for crying Stormcock leading, his stern spear straight Racing as though for a piece of plate Little speck horsemen field on field; Then Dansey viewed him and Robin squealed At the "View Halloo ! " the hounds went frantic: Back went Stormcock and up went Antic Up went Skylark as Antic sped It was zest to blood how they carried head Skylark drooped as Maroon drew by Their hackles lifted, they scored to cry The fox knew well that, before they tore him They should try their speed on the downs before him There were three more miles to the Wan Dyke Hill But his heart was high that he beat them still The wind of the downland charmed his bones So off he went for the Sarsen Stones The moan of the three great firs in the wind And the "Ai " of the foxhounds died behind; Wind-dapples followed the hill-wind's breath On the Kill Down Gorge where the Danes found death Larks scattered up; the peewits feeding Rose in a flock from the Kill Down Steeding The hare leaped up from her form and swerved Swift left for the Starveall, harebell-turved On the wind-bare thorn some longtails prinking Cried sweet as though wind-blown glass were chinking Behind came thudding and loud halloo Or a cry from hounds as they came to view The pure clean air came sweet to his lungs Till he thought foul scorn of those crying tongues In a three mile more he would reach the haven In the Wan Dyke croaked on by the raven In a three mile more he would make his berth On the hard cool floor of a Wan Dyke earth Too deep for spade, too curved for terrier With the pride of the race to make rest the merrier In a three mile more he would reach his dream So his game heart gulped and he put on steam Like a rocket shot to a ship ashore The lean red bolt of his body tore Like a ripple of wind running swift on grass; Like a shadow on wheat when a cloud blows past Like a turn at the buoy in a cutter sailing When the bright green gleam lips white at the railing Like the April snake whipping back to sheath Like the gannets' hurtle on fish beneath Like a kestrel chasing, like a sickle reaping Like all things swooping, like all things sweeping Like a hound for stay, like a stag for swift With his shadow beside like spinning drift Past the gibbet-stock all stuck with nails Where they hanged in chains what had hung at jails Past Ashmundshowe where Ashmund sleeps And none but the tumbling peewit weeps Past Curlew Calling, the gaunt grey corner Where the curlew comes as a summer mourner Past Blowbury Beacon, shaking his fleece Where all winds hurry and none brings peace; Then down on the mile-long green decline Where the turf's like spring and the air's like wine Where the sweeping spurs of the downland spill Into Wan Brook Valley and Wan Dyke Hill On he went with a galloping rally Past Maesbury Clump for Wan Brook Valley The blood in his veins went romping high "Get on, on, on, to the earth or die." The air of the downs went purely past Till he felt the glory of going fast Till the terror of death, though there indeed Was lulled for a while by his pride of speed. '" He was romping away from hounds and hunt He had Wan Dyke Hill and his earth in front In a one mile more when his point was made He would rest in safety from dog or spade; Nose between paws he would hear the shout Of the "Gone to earth! " to the hounds without The whine of the hounds, and their cat-feet gadding Scratching the earth, and their breath pad-padding; He would hear the horn call hounds away And rest in peace till another day In one mile more he would lie at rest So for one mile more he would go his best He reached the dip at the long droop's end And he took what speed he had still to spend So down past Maesbury beech-clump grey That would not be green till the end of May Past Arthur's Table, the white chalk boulder Where pasque flowers purple the down's grey shoulder Past Quichelm's Keeping, past Harry's Thorn To Thirty Acre all thin with corn As he raced the corn towards Wan Dyke Brook The pack had view of the way he took; Robin hallooed from the downland's crest He capped them on till they did their best The quarter-mile to the Wan Brook's brink Was raced as quick as a man can think And here, as he ran to the huntsman's yelling The fox first felt that the pace was telling; His body and lungs seemed all grown old His legs less certain, his heart less bold The hound-noise nearer, the hill-slope steeper The thud in the blood of his body deeper His pride in his speed, his joy in the race Were withered away, for what use was pace? He had run his best, and the hounds ran better Then the going worsened, the earth was wetter Then his brush drooped down till it sometimes dragged And his fur felt sick and his chest was tagged With taggles of mud, and his pads seemed lead; It was well for him he'd an earth ahead Down he went to the brook and over Out of the corn and into the clover Over the slope that the Wan Brook drains Past Battle Tump where they earthed the Danes Then up the hjll that the Wan Dyke rings Where the Sarsen Stones stand grand like kings Seven Sarsens of granite grim As he ran them by they looked at him; As he leaped the lip of their earthen paling The hounds were gaining and he was failing He passed the Sarsens, he left the spur He pressed uphill to the blasted fir He slipped as he leaped the hedge; he slithered "He's mine," thought Robin. "He's done; he's dithered." At the second attempt he cleared the fence He turned half-right where the gorse was dense He was leading hounds by a furlong clear He was past his best, but his earth was near He ran up gorse to the spring of the ramp The steep green wall of the dead men's camp He sidled up it and scampered down To the deep green ditch of the Dead Men's Town Within, as he reached that soft green turf The wind, blowing lonely, moaned like surf Desolate ramparts rose up steep On either side, for the ghosts to keep He raced the trench, past the rabbit warren Close-grown with moss which the wind made barren; He passed the spring where the rushes spread And there in the stones was his earth ahead One last short burst upon failing feet - There life lay waiting, so sweet, so sweet Rest in a darkness, balm for aches The earth was stopped. It was barred with stakes With the hounds at head so close behind He had to run as he changed his mind This earth, as he saw, was stopped, but still There was one earth more on the Wan Dyke Hill- A rabbit burrow a furlong on ; He could kennel there till the hounds were gone Though his death seemed near he did not blench He upped his brush and he ran the trench He ran the trench while the wind moaned treble Earth trickled down, there were falls of pebble Down in the valley of that dark gash The wind-withered grasses looked like ash Trickles of stones and earth fell down In that dark alley of Dead Men's Town A hawk arose from a fluff of feathers From a distant fold came a bleat of wethers He heard no noise from the hounds behind But the hill-wind moaning like something blind He turned the bend in the hill, and there Was his rabbit-hole with its mouth worn bare; But there, with a gun tucked under his arm Was young Sid Kissop of Purlpit's Farm With a white hob ferret to drive the rabbit Into a net which was set to nab it And young Jack Cole peered over the wall And loosed a pup with a "Z'bite en, Saul! " The terrier pup attacked with a will So the fox swerved right and away downhill Down from the ramp of the Dyke he ran To the brackeny patch where the gorse began Into the gorse, where the hill's heave hid The line he took from the eyes of Sid; He swerved downwind and ran like a hare For the wind-blown spinney below him there He slipped from the gorse to the spinney dark (There were'curled grey growths on the oak-tree bark) ; He saw no more of the terrier pup But he heard men speak and the hounds come up He crossed the spinney with ears intent For the cry of hounds on the way he went; His heart was thumping, the hounds were near now He could make no sprint at a cry and cheer now He was past his perfect, his strength was failing His brush sag-sagged and his legs were ailing He felt, as he skirted Dead Men's Town That in one mile more they would have him down Through the withered oak's wind-crouching tops He saw men's scarlet above the copse He heard men's oaths, yet he felt hounds slacken In the frondless stalks of the brittle bracken He felt that the unseen link which bound His spine to the nose of the leading hound Was snapped, that the hounds no longer knew Which way to follow nor what to do; That the threat of the hound's teeth left his neck They had ceased to run, they had come to check They were quartering wide on the Wan Hill's bent The terrier's chase had killed his scent He heard bits chink as the horses shifted He heard hounds cast, then he heard hounds lifted But there came no cry from a new attack; His heart grew steady, his breath came back He left the spinney and ran its edge By the deep dry ditch of the blackthorn hedge; Then out of the ditch and down the meadow, Trotting at ease in the blackthorn shadow Over the track called Godsdown Road To the great grass heave of the gods' abode He was moving now upon land he knew: Up Clench Royal and Morton Tew The Pol Brook, Cheddesdon, and East Stoke Church High Clench St. Lawrence and Tinker's Birch Land he had roved on night by night For hot blood-suckage or furry bite The threat of the hounds behind was gone; He breathed deep pleasure and trotted on While young Sid Kissop thrashed the pup Robin on Pip came heaving up And found his pack spread out at check "I'd like to wring your terrier's neck," He said, "you see? He's spoiled our sport He's killed the scent." He broke off short And stared at hounds and at the valley No jay or magpie gave a rally Down in the copse, no circling rooks Rose over fields; old Joyful's looks Were doubtful in the gorse, the pack Quested both up and down and back He watched 'each hound for each small sign They tried, but could not hit the line The scent was gone. The field took place Out of the way of hounds. The pace Had tailed them out; though four remained: Sir Peter, on White Rabbit, stained Red from the brooks, Bill Ridden cheery Hugh Colway with his mare dead weary The Colonel with Marauder beat They turned towards a thud of feet; Dansey, and then young Cothill came (His chestnut mare was galloped tame) "There's Copse a field behind," he said "Those last miles put them all to bed They're strung along the downs like flies." Copse and Nob Manor topped the rise "Thank God! A check," they said, "at last." "They cannot own it; you must cast," Sir Peter said. The soft horn blew Tom turned the hounds upwind. They drew Upwind, downhill, by spinney-side They tried the brambled ditch; they tried The swamp, all choked with bright green grass And clumps of rush, and pools like glass Long since the dead men's drinking pond They tried the white-leaved oak beyond But no hound spoke to it or feathered The horse-heads drooped like horses tethered The men mopped brows. "An hour's hard run Ten miles," they said, "we must have done It's all of six from Colston's Gorses." The lucky got their second horses The time ticked by. "He's lost," they muttered A pheasant rose. A rabbit scuttered Men mopped their scarlet cheeks and drank They drew downwind along the bank (The Wan Way) on the hill's south spur Grown with dwarf oak and juniper Like dwarves alive, but no hound spoke The seepings made the ground one soak They turned the spur; the hounds were beat Then Robin shifted in his seat Watching for signs, but no signs showed "I'll lift across the Godsdown Road Beyond the spinney," Robin said Tom turned them; Robin went ahead Beyond the copse a great grass fallow Stretched towards Stoke and Cheddesdon Mallow A rolling grass where hounds grew keen " Yoi do it, then! This is where he's been," Said Robin, eager at their joy "Yooi, Joyful, lad! Yooi, Cornerboy ! They're on to him." At his reminders The keen hounds hurried to the finders The finding hounds began to hurry Men jammed their hats, prepared to scurry The "Ai, Ai," of the cry began Its spirit passed to horse and man; The skirting hounds romped to the cry Hound after hound cried "Ai, Ai, Ai," Till all were crying, running, closing Their heads well up and no heads nosing Joyful ahead with spear-straight stern They raced the great slope to the burn Robin beside them, Tom behind Pointing past Robin down the wind For there, two furlongs on, he viewed On Holy Hill or Cheddesdon Rood Just where the plough land joined the grass A speck down the first furrow pass A speck the colour of the plough "Yonder he goes. We'll have him now," He cried. The speck passed slowly on It reached the ditch, paused, and was gone Then down the slope and up the Rood Went the hunt's gallop. Godsdown Wood Dropped its last oak-leaves at the rally Over the Rood to High Clench Valley The gallop led: the redcoats scattered The fragments of the hunt were tattered Over five fields, ev'n since the check "A dead fox or a broken neck," Said Robin Dawe. "Come up, the Dane." The hunter lent against the rein Cocking his ears; he loved to see The hounds at cry. The hounds and he The chiefs in all that feast of pace The speck in front began to race The fox heard hounds get on to his line And again the terror went down his spine; Again the back of his neck felt cold From the sense of the hound's teeth taking hold But his legs were rested, his heart was good He had breath to gallop to Mourne End Wood; It was four miles more, but an earth at end So he put on pace down the Rood Hill Bend Down the great grass slope which the oak-trees dot With a swerve to the right from the keeper's cot Over High Clench Brook in its channel deep To the grass beyond, where he ran to sheep The sheep formed line like a troop of horse They swerved, as he passed, to front his course From behind, as he ran, a cry arose: "See the sheep there. Watch them. There he goes! " He ran the sheep that their smell might check The hounds from his scent and save his neck But in two fields more he was made aware That the hounds still ran ; Tom had viewed him there Tom had held them on through the taint of sheep; They had kept his line, as they meant to keep They were running hard with a burning scent And Robin could see which way he went The pace that he went brought strain to breath He knew as he ran that the grass was death He ran the slope towards Morton Tew That the heave of the hill might stop the view Then he doubled down to the Blood Brook red And swerved upstream in the brook's deep bed He splashed the shallows, he swam the deeps He crept by banks as a moorhen creeps; He heard the hounds shoot over his line And go on, on, on, towards Cheddesdon Zine In the minute's peace he could slacken speed The ease from the strain was sweet indeed Cool to the pads the water flowed He reached the bridge on the Cheddesdon Road As he came to light from the culvert dim Two boys on the bridge looked down on him; They were young Bill Ripple and Harry Meun : "Look, there be squirrel, a-swimmin', see 'un? " "Noa, ben't a squirrel, be fox, be fox Now, Hal, get pebble, we'll give 'en socks." Get pebble, Billy, dub 'un a plaster; There's for thy belly, I'll learn 'ee, master." The stones splashed spray in the fox's eyes He raced from brook in a burst of shies He ran for the reeds in the withy car Where the dead flags shake and the wild-duck are He pushed through the reeds, which cracked at his passing To the High Clench Water, a grey pool glassing; He heard Bill Ripple, in Cheddesdon Road Shout, "This way, huntsmen, it's here he goed." Then "Leu, Leu, Leu," went the soft horn's laughter The hounds (they had checked) came romping after; The clop of the hooves on the road was plain Then the crackle of reeds, then cries again A whimpering first, then Robin's cheer Then the "Ai, Ai, Ai "; they were all too near; His swerve had brought but a minute's rest; Now he ran again, and he ran his best With a crackle of dead dry stalks of reed The hounds came romping at topmost speed; The redcoats ducked as the great hooves skittered The Blood Brook's shallows to sheets that glittered; With a cracking whip and a "Hoik, Hoik, Hoik Forrard !" Tom galloped. Bob shouted " Yoick ! " Like a running fire the dead reeds crackled; The hounds' heads lifted, their necks were hackled Tom cried to Bob, as they thundered through "He is running short, we shall kill at Tew." Bob cried to Tom as they rode in team "I was sure, that time, that he turned upstream As the hounds went over the brook in stride I saw old Daffodil fling to side So I guessed at once, when they checked beyond." The ducks flew up from the Morton Pond; The fox looked up at their tailing strings He wished (perhaps) that a fox had wings Wings with his friends in a great V straining The autumn sky when the moon is gaining; For better the grey sky's solitude Than to be two miles from the Mourne End Wood With the hounds behind, clean-trained to run And your strength half spent and your breath half done Better the reeds and the sky and water Than that hopeless pad from a certain slaughter At the Morton Pond the fields began- Long Tew's green meadows; he ran, he ran First the six green fields that make a mile With the lip-ful Clench at the side the while With rooks above, slow-circling, showing The world of men where a fox was going; The fields all empty, dead grass, bare hedges And the brook's bright gleam in the dark of sedges To all things else he was dumb and blind; He ran with the hounds a field behind At the sixth green field came the long slow climb To the Mourne End Wood, as old as time; Yew woods dark, where they cut for bows Oak woods green with the mistletoes Dark woods evil, but burrowed deep With a brock's earth strong, where a fox might sleep He saw his point on the heaving hill He had failing flesh and a reeling will ; He felt the heave of the hill grow stiff He saw black woods, which would shelter-if Nothing else, but the steepening slope And a black line nodding, a line of hope- The line of the yews on the long slope's brow A mile, three-quarters, a half-mile now A quarter-mile, but the hounds had viewed; They yelled to have him this side the wood Robin capped them, Tom Dansey steered them; With a "Yooi! Yooi! Yooi!" Bill Ridden cheered them Then up went hackles as Shatterer led "Mob him! " cried Ridden, "the wood's ahead Turn him, damn it! Yooi! beauties, beat him! 0 God, let them get him: let them eat him! 0 God! " said Ridden, "I'll eat him stewed If you'll let us get him this side the wood." But the pace, uphill, made a horse like stone; The pack went wild up the hill alone Three hundred yards and the worst was past The slope was gentler and shorter-grassed; The fox saw the bulk of the woods grow tall On the brae ahead, like a barrier-wall He saw the skeleton trees show sky And the yew-trees darken to see him die And the line of the woods go reeling black: There was hope in the woods-and behind, the pack Two hundred yards and the trees grew taller Blacker, blinder, as hope grew smaller; Cry seemed nearer, the teeth seemed gripping Pulling him back; his pads seemed slipping He was all one ache, one gasp, one thirsting Heart on his chest-bones, beating, bursting; The hounds were gaining like spotted pards And the wood hedge still was a hundred yards The wood hedge black was a two-year, quick Cut-and-laid that had sprouted thjck Thorns all over and strongly plied With a clean red ditch on the take-off side He saw it now as a redness, topped With a wattle of thorn-work spiky cropped Spiky to leap on, stiff to force No safe jump for a failing horse; But beyond it darkness of yews together Dark green plumes over soft brown feather Darkness of woods where scents were blowing- Strange scents, hot scents, of wild things going Scents that might draw these hounds away So he ran, ran, ran to that clean red clay Still, as he ran, his pads slipped back All his strength seemed to draw, the pack The trees drew over him dark like Norns He was over the ditch and at the thorns I He thrust at the thorns, which would not yield; He leaped, but fell, in sight of the field The hounds went wild as they saw him fall The fence stood stiff like a Bucks flint wall He gathered himself for a new attempt; His life before was an old dream dreamt All that he was was a blown fox quaking Jumping at thorns too stiff for breaking While over the grass in crowd, in cry Came the grip teeth grinning to make him die The eyes intense, dull, smouldering red The fell like a ruff round each keen head The pace like fire, and scarlet men Galloping, yelling, "Yooi, eat him, then! " He gathered himself, he leaped, he reached The top of the hedge like a fish-boat beached He steadied a second and then leaped down To the dark of the wood where bright things drown