How oft has thy voice made the hunters rejoice, 



When its deep mellow notes were heard, 

 For well did they know that thy startled i'oe 



Must go his best pace on the sward. 

 Thou hast followed the chase with untiring pace 



From morn till the sun has set ; 

 Thou hast lain at my feet when thy heart scarcely beat — 



But there's life in the old Hound yet. 



Once did I think, when on the steep brink 



Of a dark shining rock thou stood. 

 That thy race was run, that thy life was done, 



As thou leaped o'er the yawning flood : 

 When thou fell on the rocks with the beaten fox 



I thought a hard fate thou hadst met, 

 But we found thee below with thy conquered foe — 



Aye ! and life in the old Hound yet ! 



Thy coat is now grey, and thy strength doth decay, 



But thy heart is as brave and as true 

 As when first we went forth on the hills in the north 



In pursuit of the fleet-footed crew. 

 Men are to be found who would kill the old Hound, 



And his long years of service forget ; 

 But a hand I'll ne'er lend to destroy my old friend, 



While there 's life in the old Hound yet. 



There 's many a lass I have loved is dead. 



And many a friend grown old. 

 And unless with thee to the woodlands led 



This weary heart grows cold. 

 But as o'er hill and dale I fly. 



With thy voice to madden my brain, 

 All, all 's forgot as to thee I cry, 



" Toicks ! have at him, old Hound, again ! " 



From LoKD Febrees. 



