| ‘Lay me in a cushioned chair; |
| Carry me, ye four, |
| With cushions here and cushions there, |
| To see the
world once more. |
|
|
|
|
| ‘To stable and to kennel go; |
| Bring what is there to bring; |
| Lead my Lollard to and fro, |
| Or gently in a ring. |
|
|
|
|
| ‘Put the chair upon the grass: |
| Bring Rody and his hounds, |
| That I may contented
pass |
| From these earthly bounds.’ |
|
|
|
|
| His eyelids droop, his head falls low, |
| His old eyes cloud with dreams; |
| The sun upon all things that grow |
| Falls in sleepy streams. |
|
|
|
|
| Brown Lollard treads upon the lawn, |
| And to
the armchair goes, |
| And now the old man’s dreams are gone, |
| He smooths the long brown nose. |
|
|
|
|
| And
now moves many a pleasant tongue |
| Upon his wasted hands, |
| For leading aged hounds and young |
| The
huntsman near him stands. |
|
|
|
|
| ‘Huntsman Rody, blow the horn, |
| Make the hills reply.’ |
| The huntsman loosens
on the morn |
| A gay wandering cry. |
|
|
|
|
| Fire is in the old man’s eyes, |
| His fingers move and sway, |
| And when
the wandering music dies |
| They hear him feebly say, |
|
|
|
|
| ‘Huntsman Rody, blow the horn, |
| Make the hills
reply.’ |
| ‘I cannot blow upon my horn, |
| I can but weep and sigh.’ |
|
|
|
|
| Servants round his cushioned place |
| Are
with new sorrow wrung; |
| Hounds are gazing on his face, |
| Aged hounds and young. |
|
|
|
|
| One blind hound only
lies apart |
| On the sun-smitten grass; |
| He holds deep commune with his heart: |
| The moments pass and
pass; |
|
|
|
|
| The blind hound with a mournful din |
| Lifts slow his wintry head; |
| The servants bear the body in; |
| The hounds wail for the dead. |
