We have hustled that litter in Heatherlie Whin, <br />Two crouch in the bracken, two dodge in the corn, <br />But the fifth one as swift as the shadow of sin <br />Was away when he heard the first note of the horn. <br />He skimmed the broad meadow in front of us all <br />With his brush in the air and his mask to the moor, <br />Looking back with a grin from the top of the wall <br />Ere he dropped to the heather cool, safe, and secure. <br />His brothers and sisters will fall by the way; <br />They'll be harried and headed and chopped in a ride; <br />But this one will live for a galloping day <br />And lead us and pound us and scatter us wide. <br />Let him travel! – a good one. We’ll meet him again <br />When the fields in the dusk of December are dressed; <br />We shall need all our courage to follow him then, <br />When he steals o’er the open, a fox of the best.<br /><br />William Henry Ogilvie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-right-sort/
