Diminished in a trice:
The steeds, like Cinderella's team,
Seemed dwindling into mice;
And, far remote, each scarlet coat
Soon flitted like a spark,—
Tho' still the forest murmured back
An echo of the bark!
But sad at soul John Huggins turned:
No comfort could he find;
While thus the "Hunting Chorus" sped,