Rustle of feet in the roadside grass,
Trample of horses' hoofs, and - Hark!
Blast of an anxious horn! Hounds pass;
Hounds going home in the dark.
Bold was our huntsman galloping free
On a difficult line to the hills to-day,
But his hand is trembling against his knee
At the hint of a light on the King's Highway.
Car!' And the gold spreads over the sky;
Keep to the front there! Stop them, Mark!
'Toot-toot-too-oot! - 'Halloo, there!-Hi!-
Hounds going home in the dark.
Crack of a whip as the headlights near-
Blind in the blaze they group and grope.
Curse the feller, and can't he hear?
Put 'em across, there I-Cope, boys, cope!'
When never a star is hung in the sky,
With never a lamp or a lantern spark,
Huntsman and Whips go groping by,
Blowing them home in the dark.
