A Hunting Song

Poem By Adam Lindsay Gordon

Here's a health to every sportsman, be he stableman or lord,
If his heart be true, I care not what his pocket may afford;
And may he ever pleasantly each gallant sport pursue,
If he takes his liquor fairly, and his fences fairly, too.

He cares not for the bubbles of Fortune's fickle tide,
Who like Bendigo can battle, and like Olliver can ride.
He laughs at those who caution, at those who chide he'll frown,
As he clears a five-foot paling, or he knocks a peeler down.

The dull, cold world may blame us, boys! but what care we the while,
If coral lips will cheer us, and bright eyes on us smile?
For beauty's fond caresses can most tenderly repay
The weariness and trouble of many an anxious day.

Then fill your glass, and drain it, too, with all your heart and soul,
To the best of sports — The Fox-hunt, The Fair Ones, and The Bowl,
To a stout heart in adversity through every ill to steer,
And when Fortune smiles a score of friends like those around us here

Comments about A Hunting Song

The dull, cold world may blame us, boys! but what care we the while, If coral lips will cheer us, and bright eyes on us smile? For beauty's fond caresses can most tenderly repay The weariness and trouble of many an anxious day. Nice poem. 10
Then fill your glass, and drain it, too, with all your heart and soul, To the best of sports A nice line from the lovely poem. Thanks for the sharing. 10
It sounds like the privileged and insulated gentility clapping themselves on the back and trying to sound generous and egalitarian at the same time. In praise of the fox hunt? C'mon. This is classist balderdash. Even in its own day.
Interesting write. Haunting expression.
Cheer to the sporting spirit with a sip of humor.


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