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134 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Whip, cap, boots, and spurs in a trophy were bound, And here and there followed an old straggling hound. Ah ! no more at his voice yonder vales will they trace, Nor the welkin resound to the burst in the chase!
With " High over !—now press him !
Tally-ho !—Tally-ho ! "
Thus Tom spoke his friends ere he gave up his breath, " Since I see you're resolved to be in at the death, One favor bestow—'tis the last I shall crave,— Give a rattling view-hollow thrice over my grave; And unless at that warning I lift up my head, My boys, you may fairly conclude I am dead ! " Honest Tom was obeyed, and the shout rent the sky, For every voice joined in the tally-ho cry,
Tally-ho ! Hark forward !
Tally-ho! Tally-ho I |
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