After the Hunt

Underneath  the windy mountain walls
 Forth we rode, an eager band,
By the surges and the verges and the gorges,
 Till the night was on the land—
 On the hazy, mazy land!
Far away the bounding prey
 Leapt across the ruts and logs,
But we galloped, galloped, galloped on,
 Till we heard the yapping of the dogs—
 The yapping and the yelping of the dogs.
Oh, it was a madly merry day
 We shall not so soon forget,
And the edges and the ledges and the ridges
 Haunt us with their echoes yet—
 Echoes, echoes, echoes yet!
While the moon is on the hill
 Gleaming through the streaming fogs,
 Don’t you hear the yapping of the dogs—
 The yapping and the yelping of the dogs?