THE OLD BLUE-PYE 



And the riders troop to the shrill who-hoop 



On staggering horses and steeds that sigh 

 As the word goes round that the fox was found 



And killed by the old blue-pye. 

 For the Huntsman knows what a hound can do, 

 And he knows that I know that he knows it, too : 

 He knows my voice on a fox is true, 



And the blood of a fox my joy, 

 As he fights his way to the thick of the pack, 

 Where my jaws are crushing a wet red back, 

 With his " Leave him, Vagabond ! Vagabond ! 

 Vagabond ! 



Leave him, Vagabond, boy ! " 



