Reminiscent rhymes, and other verse (1911) (14598181248)

Identifier: reminiscentrhyme00wils (find matches)
Title: Reminiscent rhymes, and other verse
Year: 1911 (1910s)
Authors: Wilson, John Byers
Subjects:
Publisher: Cincinnati, Press of Jennings and Graham
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress



Text Appearing Before Image:
r far each one of these Than Eothschilds golden hoard to leave behind. WHEN THE HOUXDS STEIKE THE TRAIL Kever gone coon huntin^ ? Then you nothin know of sport;Of a night within the forest, deep and dark and vast. Your only light the sky, And the stars shining high.Or the full moon thro the tree-tops sailing swiftly past;Of the deep breathing stillness, broken only by the owl,Or the weird, fantastic night-winds low and mournful wail, When suddenly you start, And joyous leaps the heart.As the hounds give the signal of having struck the trail. Wow! Wow! Wow-oo! Wow, Wow-oo I thro the crisp, f)-osiy night,hi wild, exultant concert their deep mouths swell and bay; Now loud, then faintly dim. As they trail round the rimOf the hills or up the hollows, a mile or more away;And louder swells the chorus as nearer still they come,And they break from the timber and dash across the vale; Wow-oo! Wow-oo! Wow-oo! T is music sweet and true,AMiicli ihc hounds make coming, bounding warm.upon the trail.
Text Appearing After Image:
And now they clamor by with reverberating shout,Wow ! AVow-oo ! AYow ! Wow ! Wow-oo I breaking lond upon thebreeze; How it thrills with delight. In the hush of the night,As it rolls up the hollows and is tangled in the trees!All at once a sudden silence settles on the air.Broken in a moment by a long, concerted wail. Informing Dick and me They\e cooney up a tree.And they^re waiting for our coming at the end of the trail. 211 213 And soon the chips are flying from our axes swift blows,A merry music malving with each hounds excited bay. As they all circle round, Each sitting on the ground.And looking up and panting for the glory of the fray.I ve sat me at the opera when visiting the town.Where, in a painted forest, theyd music sweet for sale; But fairer far the wildwood. That charmed me in my childhood,And sweeter far the music when the hounds struck the trail. When I leave my forest home for the palace in the skies,There a thousand angel voices in chorus loud will ring; And ever and a