Here they come sailing like gulls on the grass,
Flickering over the furrows like flame,
Running with drive that no pack can surpass
And a courage that nothing can tame!
Here they come, over the wall!
You could cover the lot with an old woman's shawl,
And there's nobody with them, nobody with them,
Nobody with them at all!

Yonder the river, bank-full with the flood,
Holds up the huntsman, the Whips, and the rest.
Heedless the bitches are running for blood
Unassisted, alone, and unpressed.
Here they come, voicing their glee,
Stooping and flinging and feathering free,
And there's nobody with them, nobody with them,
Nobody with them to see!

Ride for the bridges, and ride for the ford!
Tackle that swift-running flood if ye dare!
Haste, if your valour would reap its reward
Ere that music grows faint on the air!
There they go, holding it well;
Their chime on the hillside as clear as a bell,
And nobody with them, nobody with them,
Nobody with them to tell!

See, on the heath there, a furlong in front,
Labouring, lagging, back-glancing and beat,
Is the little red fox that has led them the hunt,
And their triumph is all but complete.
Look! They 've killed him—and no one to cheer!
For the pace was a bit too severe;
And there's nobody with them, nobody with them,
Nobody with them—or near!