He passed the Sarsens, he left the spur, He pressed up hill to the blasted fir, He slipped as he leaped the hedge; he slithered; "He's mine," thought Robin. "He's done; he's dithered." At the second attempt he cleared the fence, He turned half right where the gorse was dense, He was leading hounds by a furlong clear. He was past his best, but his earth was near. He ran up gorse, to the spring of the ramp, The steep green wall of the dead men's camp, He sidled up it and scampered down To the deep green ditch of the dead men's town. Within, as he reached that soft green turf, The wind, blowing lonely, moaned like surf, Desolate ramparts rose up steep, On either side, for the ghosts to keep. He raced the trench, past the rabbit warren, Close grown with moss which the wind made barren, He passed the spring where the rushes spread, And there in the stones was his earth ahead. One last short burst upon failing feet, There life lay waiting, so sweet, so sweet, Rest in a darkness, balm for aches. The earth was stopped. It was barred with stakes. LAST HOPE [Illustration: A mask] With hounds at head so close behind He had to run as he changed his mind. This earth, as he saw, was stopped, but still There was one earth more on the Wan Dyke Hill. A rabbit burrow a furlong on, He could kennel there till the hounds were gone. Though his death seemed near he did not blench He upped his brush and he ran the trench. He ran the trench while the wind moaned treble, Earth trickled down, there were falls of pebble. Down in the valley of that dark gash The wind-withered grasses looked like ash. Trickles of stones and earth fell down In that dark valley of dead men's town. A hawk arose from a fluff of feathers, From a distant fold came a bleat of wethers. He heard no noise from the hounds behind But the hill-wind moaning like something blind. He turned the bend in the hill and there Was his rabbit-hole with its mouth worn bare, But there with a gun tucked under his arm Was young Sid Kissop of Purlpits Farm, With a white hob ferret to drive the rabbit Into a net which was set to nab it. And young Jack Cole peered over the wall And loosed a pup with a "Z'bite en, Saul," The terrier pup attacked with a will, So the fox swerved right and away down hill. Down from the ramp of the Dyke he ran To the brackeny patch where the gorse began, Into the gorse, where the hill's heave hid The line he took from the eyes of Sid He swerved down wind and ran like a hare For the wind-blown spinney below him there. He slipped from the Gorse to the spinney dark (There were curled grey growths on the oak tree bark) He saw no more of the terrier pup. But he heard men speak and the hounds come up.