A Foxhunter Died . . .
Yesterday a foxhunter died
Of a shrunken and ruptured heart.
But the pain that he knew in his comfortable bed
Of his suffering was only the start.
As his soul left his body, at once it was gripped
With a certain and terrible fear!
"Forgive me!" he cried to the presence he felt,
For he knew retribution was near.
"Vengeance is mine!" said the great God of Earth
"and foxhunter, hear me well,
For your terrible cruelty to my innocent ones,
Begone! And get you to Hell!"
"But the souls of foxes come running to me
And I bless them and welcome them in.
Gentle deer, bounding hare and passionate fox
Are innocent, free from all sin.
And the foxhunter's soul, a terrible thing,
All blackened and twisted and dry,
Sped down to Hell to receive his desserts
With an anguished and furious cry.
For a foxhunter's Hell is the cry of the pack
And the frightening bay of the hound
And a desperate search in the holes that are blocked,
For now HE is the prey and they'll run him to ground.
And they tear at his limbs with their fearsome teeth,
They rip out his liver and heart;
But the very next day, in the foxhunter's hall
The hounds come again - so let the hunt start.
Anon.