Poems (Mitford)/On Maria's winning the Cup
onMARIA'S WINNING THE CUP,AT THE ILSLEY COURSING MEETING, NOVEMBER 9, 1808.INSCRIBED TO W. COBBETT, ESQ.
Oh! for thy flow'rets, May, to deck With brilliant wreaths Maria's neck! The blushing rose, the jasmine fair,The hearts-ease gay, should mingle there; But chill November's dreary day Has chas'd each blooming flow'r away; The sad Arbutus, drooping pale,And bending to the wintry gale, Or Laurustinus, modest flow'r! Alone survive the cheerless hour. Then round her neck of jetty hue Entwine the band of heav'nly blue,Color of triumph! to proclaim Maria's deeds! Maria's fame!
And ne'er, Maria! greyhound true,Like thee, o'er hill and valley flew! And ne'er like thine, on Ilsley's plain,Could dauntless spirit vanquish pain! Fresh and unhurt thy rivals stood,Thy wounded feet all bath'd in blood; But, when the destin'd prey was found,Those little feet scarce felt the ground, Chas'd the poor victim like the wind,And left each far-fam'd dog behind; In vain the fated quarry flies,Her death decides the envied prize. Loud the assembled crowd proclaim My own Maria's well-earn'd fame! And round her neck of raven hue Entwine the band of victor blue!