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