Here you will find the Poem Tom Moody of poet William Henry Ogilvie
Death had beckoned with grisly hand To the finest Whip in hunting-land. `My time is short,? Tom Moody said, `Master, when I am done and dead, Lay me at Barrow beneath the yew In the dear old shire we have hunted through. Let six earth-stoppers carry me there With slow step and heads bare. Bring the old horse that I used to ride, With my whip and boots to his saddle tied. Fasten the brush in his forehead-band Of the last dog-fox we brought to hand. And let a couple of old hounds come, Fitting mourners to follow me home. Then, when you've laid me safe down there, Give three view-holloas will shake the air, And you'll know, if I do not lift my head, There is no mistake-Tom Moody's dead!'