PART I.
Or the First Day’s Ride.—March 4th, 1811.
The first of March, from Cockle Park,
A flock of sheep did stray,
Which disappeared in the dark,
And were not miss’d next day;
North west, by north, in zig-zag route,
To their late home did hie,
By innate instinct taught no doubt,
Their yeaning time drew nigh.[61]
They thirty hours a-head had got,
Upon their tour intent;
On searching ev’ry local spot,
A second day was spent;
The third I mounted—by Priest’s Bridge,
And Heron’s Close I veer’d;
To Harelaw Heights, and Ruffhill Ridge,
And Stanton Steads I steer’d.
To Southwardedge, Doehill, and Rea,
Smallburn, and the Haredean,
Blackpool, Todburn, and Garretlea,
And Horsley Moor I’d been;
At Westerheugh, and Sunnyside,
The Busygap also,
Each collier’s cot, and creeks beside,
High Hezleyhurst, and Low.
On wand’ring westward through Wardshill,
I there found the first three;
And heard the mass amissing still,
Had march’d towards the Lee;
I hir’d the herd, these to retain,
’Till in pursuit I went,
To bring the others back again,
But quickly lost the scent.
True, I some stragglers overtook,
Near Leehead, with their lambs;
And all the rest had cross’d the brook,
But these indulgent dams:
The fugitives fecundity,
Allow’d of no delay;
Yet found it would difficult be,
More to collect that day.
Myself fatigu’d, and found my nag,
Fail of his wonted powers;
For want of food we both did fag,
By trav’ling twelve long hours.
So I resolved then to ride
Home at an easy pace;
A gross of hand-bills to provide,
And hence resume the chase.