THE LAME OLD HUNTSMAN BY HIS FIRESIDE. 255 



And then, again, in the Vale, 

 When we galloped away from Holnest Pound 

 To Forest Oaks, where he went to ground, 



Just under the broken rail. 



Hark, hollo ! I hear them now — 

 They have headed him down by the brook ; 

 Lucky for those that went to look, — 



There he goes over the brow ! 



Tally-ho ! For'ard ! Away ! 

 Over the double, and over the plough ; 

 Steady, my beauties ! You'll have him now — 



We're sure of his brush to-day. 



But it rouses me up too much, — 

 Come hither, my boy, and hang up the horn 

 By the spurs ; that I ever was born 



To hobble about with a crutch ! 



'Tis something to sit and to think ; 

 To be thankful for joys that are past ; 

 To look forward to those that will last ; 



And the present is only a link. 



I shall hear the who-whoop ! some day, 

 And I must then be in at the Death ; 

 Once more " Tally-ho ! " with my feeble breath, 



And I shall be " Gone away ! " 



T. G. 



THE END. 



