THE PLACE WHERE THE OLD HORSE DIED. Whyte Melville. In the hollow, by the pollard, where the crop is tall and rank Of the dock-leaf and the nettle growing free, Where the bramble and the brushwood straggle blindly o'er the bank, And the pyat jerks and chatters on the tree, In the sedges and the grass, But for very shame I turn my head aside,— Chorus. While the tears come thick and hot, 'Tis the place where the old horse died. There's his hoof upon the chimney, there's his hide upon the chair, A better never bent him to the rein; Now, for all my love and care, I've an empty stall and bare; I shall never ride my gallant horse again! How he loved to have a lead, How he snorted in his mettle and his pride !— Chorus. Not a flyer of the hunt Was beside him in the front, At the place where the old horse died! Was he blown? I cannot tell. I hardly think it. Did he slip? We had run for forty minutes in the vale. He was reaching at his bridle; he was going strong and well, And he never seemed to falter or to fail. Though I sometimes fancy, too, That his daring spirit knew The task beyond the compass of his stride,— Chorus -Yet he faced it true and brave, And dropped into his grave At the place where the old horse died. I was up in half a minute, but he never seemed to stir, Though I scored him with my rowels in the fall; In his life he had not felt before the insult of the spur, And I knew that it was over, once for all. In his cheerless bed of clay, Huddled up, without an effort, on his side, Chorus. 'Twas a hard and bitter stroke, For his honest back was broke, At the place where the old horse died. With a neigh so faint and feeble that it touched me like a groan, "Farewell," he seemed to murmur, "ere I die ;" Then set his teeth and stretched his limbs, and so I stood alone, While the merry chase went heedless sweeping by. Am I womanly and weak, If the tear was on my cheek, For a brotherhood that death could thus divide ? Chorus.-If, sickened and amazed, Through a woeful mist I gazed On the place where the old horse died? There are men both good and wise, who hold that in a future state Dumb creatures we have cherished here below Shall give us joyous greeting when we pass the golden gate; Is it folly that I hope it may be so? More enduring to the end, Truer mate in every turn of time and tide ;- At the place where the old horse died. THE POACHER. When I was bound apprentice in famous Lincolnshire, Full well I served my master for more than seven year, Till I took up to poaching, as you shall quickly hear : For 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year. As me and my companions were setting of a snare, The gamekeeper was watching us-for him we did not care; For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, and jump o'er anywhere, For 'tis my delight, &c. As me and my companions were setting four or five, And taking of them up again, we took the hare alive, We popped her into a bag, my boys, and thro' the wood did steer, For 'tis our delight, &c. I threw her on my shoulder and wandered thro' the town, We took her to a neighbour's house and sold her for a crown, We sold her for a crown, my boys, but I did not tell you where. For 'tis my delight, &c. Success to every gentleman that lives in Lincolnshire; Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare; Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer; For 'tis my delight, &c. POLICE SERGEANT'S SONG. (The Pirates of Penzance: Gilbert.) When a felon's not engaged in his employment, When the enterprising burglar's not a-burgling, |