Volume I Part 15 (2/2)

There's nought for us here save to count the clock, And hang the head all day: But over the hills we'll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

Here among men we're like the deer That yonder is our prey: So, over the hills we'll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

The hypocrite is master here, But he's the c.o.c.k of clay: So, over the hills we'll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

The women, they shall sigh and smile, And madden whom they may: It's over the hills we'll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

Let silly lads in couples run To pleasure, a wicked fay: 'Tis ours on the heather to bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

The torrent glints under the rowan red, And shakes the bracken spray: What joy on the heather to bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

The sun bursts broad, and the heathery bed Is purple, and orange, and gray: Away, and away, we'll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

JUGGLING JERRY

I

Pitch here the tent, while the old horse grazes: By the old hedge-side we'll halt a stage.

It's nigh my last above the daisies: My next leaf 'll be man's blank page.

Yes, my old girl! and it's no use crying: Juggler, constable, king, must bow.

One that outjuggles all's been spying Long to have me, and he has me now.

II

We've travelled times to this old common: Often we've hung our pots in the gorse.

We've had a stirring life, old woman!

You, and I, and the old grey horse.

Races, and fairs, and royal occasions, Found us coming to their call: Now they'll miss us at our stations: There's a Juggler outjuggles all!

III

Up goes the lark, as if all were jolly!

Over the duck-pond the willow shakes.

Easy to think that grieving's folly, When the hand's firm as driven stakes!

Ay, when we're strong, and braced, and manful, Life's a sweet fiddle: but we're a batch Born to become the Great Juggler's han'ful: b.a.l.l.s he s.h.i.+es up, and is safe to catch.

IV

Here's where the lads of the village cricket: I was a lad not wide from here: Couldn't I whip off the bail from the wicket?

Like an old world those days appear!

Donkey, sheep, geese, and thatched ale-house - I know them!

They are old friends of my halts, and seem, Somehow, as if kind thanks I owe them: Juggling don't hinder the heart's esteem.

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