Here you will find the Poem The Last Fence of poet William Henry Ogilvie
When the last fence looms up, I am ready And I hope when the rails of it crack There'll be nothing in front but the Master, The huntsman, the fox, and the pack; And I hope when fate bids me go under In this last of my manifold spills, That we're riding the line of a hill fox With half a mile start to his hills. I hope that last fence is a stiff one; I hope, for the sake of our name, They may say, ' If the task was beyond them They both of them went at it game! ' And when the white girths flash above me, And darkness comes down on the field, Let them carry me home on a hurdle As the Spartan went home on his shield. And when I am out of the running Let the good men go on with the pack; I would not one comrade should falter, I would not one friend should turn back; And whether it be on the grass-land, The hill-side, the heath or the loam, Let the gallant ones keep going for'ard- The slow ones can carry me home. Let them bury me down in the churchyard, But lay my good horse where he fell; When the ditches are blind in the autumn Some friend may remember and tell, While under the thong of the west wind The day-nettle trembles and stirs: 'Twas from here that a horseman undaunted Went Home in his boots and his spurs.'