lirik lagu john masefield: reynard the fox - julian randall
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 k!ll
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 t~~th 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
t~~th 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 h~rn 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 s~rs~n stones on wan dyk~ 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~t~~th bare
over the waste, where the ganders grazed
the long swift lilt of his loping lazed
his ears c~cked up as his blood ran higher
he saw his point, and his eyes took fire
the wan dyk~ hill with its fir~tree barren
its dark of gorse and its rabbit~warren
the dyk~ on its heave like a tightened girth
and holes in the dyk~ 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 t~~th 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, d~ck 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 h~rn 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 sh~lls 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 k!ll 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 blackth~rn rift
a white horse rising, a dark horse flying
and the, hungry hounds too tense for crying
stormc~ck leading, his stern spear straight
racing as though for a piece of plate
little speck hors~m~n field on field;
then dansey viewed him and robin squealed
at the “view halloo ! ” the hounds went frantic:
back went stormc~ck 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 dyk~ 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 s~rs~n 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 k!ll down gorge where the danes found death
larks scattered up; the peewits feeding
rose in a flock from the k!ll down steeding
the hare leaped up from her form and swerved
swift left for the starveall, harebell~turved
on the wind~bare th~rn some longtails prinking
cried sweet as though wind~blown glass were ch~nking
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 dyk~ croaked on by the raven
in a three mile more he would make his berth
on the hard cool floor of a wan dyk~ 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 dyk~ 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 dyk~ 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 h~rn 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 th~rn
to thirty acre all thin with corn
as he raced the corn towards wan dyk~ 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 dyk~ rings
where the s~rs~n stones stand grand like kings
seven s~rs~ns 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 s~rs~ns, 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 dyk~ 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 dyk~ 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 t~~th 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 k!lled his scent
he heard bits ch~nk 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 blackth~rn hedge;
then out of the ditch and down the meadow,
trotting at ease in the blackth~rn 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 k!lled 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 n0b manor topped the rise
“thank god! a check,” they said, “at last.”
“they cannot own it; you must cast,”
sir peter said. the soft h~rn 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
c~cking 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 t~~th 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 h~rn’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 k!ll 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, d~mn 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 t~~th 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
th~rns 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 th~rn~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 th~rns
i he thrust at the th~rns, 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 th~rns too stiff for breaking
while over the grass in crowd, in cry
came the grip t~~th 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
Lirik lagu lainnya:
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- lirik lagu random stuff - willow11
- lirik lagu por el contrario - the la planta
- lirik lagu wicked, sick and twisted - wucan
- lirik lagu making changes - lil sknow
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