You roam that strange mysterious land,
That vast beyond where travellers wait,
Where mortal foot may never stand,
Nor mortal vision penetrate,
Oh, let your thoughts drift back and dwell
On joys by memory roused from rest,
When scent was keen, when hounds ran well,
And Fortune gave us of her best.
Recall the pageant of the meet,
The snug gorse covert on the hill,