_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.
Next day to the Thatchmeadows, I (The forest skirts to scour) Coldrife, and Quarryhouse pass’d by, To Newbiggin’s bleak moor: Bullbush, Blueburn, and Blagdon Brakes, I carefully did scan; But none on these extensive tracts, Were seen by any man.
Ward’s Intake, Hut, and Shepherd’s Shield, Coldside, and Moralhurst; By Forestburn, and Meadowfield, To Holyhill I cours’d: Hence Lordenshaws, and Garlyside, Crook, Loaning, Stewardshill; But disappointments did preside, O’er expectations still.
By the Sheephurst, to Brockleyhall, And Turnbull’s steed I steer’d; And at each peasant’s cot did call, That in my path appear’d: To the Two Raws, and Butterknows, I posted on with speed, Where I was told some of my ewes Cross’d Coquet at Craghead.