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THE VOICES IN THE VALE. 



There's a whisper in the hollow, there are voices in the vale, 

 There is music in the murmur of the breeze ; 



All the white clouds drift above me, ever peacefully they sail 

 Far aw^y beyond the moorland and the trees. 



Far away my fancy takes .me to the years beyond recall, 



When I rode beside my sweetheart in the chase ; 



All the fences how we took them neat and clean without 

 a fall, 



And the merry, merry smile upon her face. 



How she grappled with the chestnut, she was master of the 

 mare 



When the awkward stile was looming in our line. 



She'd a dash and style of riding, such an artist I declare 



Baffles all attempt to picture or define. 



Side by side our hearts were beating, while the chase was 

 fleeting still. 



Neck and neck we rode the chestnut and the grey ; 



We could see the field retreating from the summit of the hill. 



And the white hounds streaming on upon their way. 



F 



