THE VIATORIAN. VOL. XIV.
JANUARY, 1897.
NO. 4;
.... Loud breaks the peal of bugle horn Upon the cold and frosty morn, And soon with shout and bark of hound, The woods and valley do resound. Soon hunters bold and ladies fair, Out on the lawn are here and there. All seem beneath the mild command Of one, the youngest of the band. His milk-white steed is prancing high, As round his form the snow~akes fly. The silver bells on harness ringing, Like sound of fairy voices singing. The rider's face is fair to see, And soft and mild of voice is he. I love to look upon his form, But why comes he this frosty morn. He raised his snow white dimpled hand A silence held that cheerful band, And with a voice of music rare, These words rang out upon the air. ''0 come you chosen ones of life, And hunt in fields that know no strife, You'll have the finest game 'neath heaven. Come one, come all with Ninety-seven."
,,
'ffl-,
He ceased, and echoes all about, Resounded to their joyous shout. Then Ninety-seven took my hand, And now I'm with that merry band. J. H . N.