92 THE SHADE OF THE HUNTSMAN. 



And yonder he fell, where the shadows are falling 

 From yonder tall oak tree, see, there on the grass ; 



So game to the last and so true to his calling, 

 A man and a leader, a bad one to pass. 



A rabbit hole broke the mare's leg as she landed, 

 She crushed him completely, he died where he fell ; 



The hounds were at fault, they were turning right handed, 

 Their fox was dead beat and was sinking the dell. 



And still of a night, when the moonlight is stealing 

 Across the dark ride of the woodland, they say 



The shade of the huntsman is seen, ever feeling 

 The reins as he handles the shade of the grey. 



And still through the woodland you see the pack spreading, 

 The shades of good hounds who have loved him in chase ; 



In front of their huntsman each phantom hound threading 

 The covert with movements of exquisite grace. 



And over the open still lashing and driving, 

 The phantom-shaped pack ever gallantly fly ; 



Each hound in his place, and the leaders contriving 

 To keep up the pace, for the scent is breast high. 



Beside them their huntsman, so gracefully sailing, 

 Is watching their movements, still keen as of yore ; 



The shade of the mare as she tops the high railing 

 Still carries him onward, and well to the fore. 



