Tally-ho 207 



The Find ^^> >^:> >o 



YON sound's neither sheep-bell nor bark, 

 They're running — they're running, Go hark ! 

 The sport may be lost by a moment's delay ; 

 So whip up the puppies and scurry away. 

 Dash down through the cover by dingle and dell, 

 There's a gate at the bottom — I know it full well ; 

 And they're running — they're running;, 

 Go hark ! 



They're running — they're running, Go hark ! 

 One fence and we're out of the park ; 

 Sit down in your saddles and race at the brook, 

 Then smash at the bullfinch ; no time for a 

 look ; 

 Leave cravens and skirters to dangle behind ; 

 He's away for the moors in the teeth of the wind. 

 And they're running — they're running. 

 Go hark ! 



They're running — they're running. Go hark ! 



Let them run on and run till it's dark ! 



Well with them we are, and well with them 



we'll be. 

 While there's wind in our horses and daylight to 

 see : 

 Then shog along homeward, chat over the fight. 

 And hear in our dreams the sweet music all night 

 Of — They're running, they're running. 

 Go hark ! 



Charles Kings ley. 



