And you, as you called to the herd a warning,
Dropped in the grasses dead;
And some stout hunter's heart was brimming
For joy that the gods of sport were good—
With a lump in his throat and his eyes a-dimming,
As the eyes of sportsmen should;—
As mine have done in the springtime running,
As mine in the halcyon days
Ere trigger-finger had lapsed from cunning
Or foot from the forest ways,