They are safe enough now,
For all we can harm them, old master and I.
We have had our last hunt, the game must go by,
While Matthew sits fashioning bows in the door,
For a living. We'll never hunt more.
For time, cold and hardship have stiffened his knee,
And since little Lottie died, often I see
His hands tremble sorely, and go to his eyes,
For the lost baby daughter, so pretty and wise.
Oh, it's sad to be old, and to see the blue sky
Look far away to the dim, fading eye;
To feel the fleet foot growing weary and sore
That in forest and hamlet shall lag evermore.
I am going--I hear the great wolf on my track;
Already around me his shadow falls black.
One hunting cry more! Oh, master, come nigh,
And lay the white paw in your own as I die!
Oh, come to me, master; the last hedge is passed--
Our tramps in the wildwood are over at last;
Stoop lower, and lay my head on your knee.
What! Tears for a useless old hunter like me?
You will see little Lottie again by and by.
I shan't. They don't have any dogs in the sky.
Tell her, loving and trusty, beside you I died,
And--bury me, master, not far from her side.
For we loved little Lottie so well, you and I.
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