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The man on the flea-bitten grey, 

 The horse that can gallop and stay, 

 The stile in the meadow he takes at a fly, 

 While some of us think it too strong and too high, 

 He says to his horse with a wink of his eye, 

 "' Hark forrard, hark forrard away." 



All nature is singing to-day, 

 Her voices are happy and gay. 

 Again and again you can hear the glad song, 

 It kindles the heart of the galloping throng ; 

 Still sailing away and still sailing along, 

 Hark forrard, hark forrard away. 



Hark forrard, hark forrard away. 



My dreams as I slumber convey 



Those melodies still coming over the hill ; 



I ride with a will from the find to the kill, 



The words bring a thrill as I pass by the mill, 



Hark forrard, hark forrard away. 



