Death had beckoned with grisly hand
To the finest Whip in hunting-land.
My time is short, Tom Moody said,
Master, when I am done and dead,
Lay me at Barrow beneath the yew
In the dear old shire we have hunted through.
Let six earth-stoppers carry me there
With slow step and heads bare.
Bring the old horse that I used to ride,
With my whip and boots to his saddle tied.
Fasten the brush in his forehead-band
Of the last dog-fox we brought to hand.
And let a couple of old hounds come,
Fitting mourners to follow me home.
Then, when you've laid me safe down there,
Give three view-holloas will shake the air,
And you'll know, if I do not lift my head,
There is no mistake-Tom Moody's dead!'
Tom Moody
written byWilliam Henry Ogilvie
© William Henry Ogilvie