48
THE SINGLE HOUND.
XLV.
I NEVER told the buried gold
Upon the hill that lies,
I saw the sun, his plunder done,
Crouch low to guard his prize.
He stood as near, as stood you here,
A pace had been between—
Did but a snake bisect the brake,
My life had forfeit been.
That was a wondrous booty,
I hope 'twas honest gained—
Those were the finest ingots
That ever kissed the spade.
Whether to keep the secret—
Whether to reveal—
Whether, while I ponder
Kidd may sudden sail—
