 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
SONG.
O'er the hills far away, at the birth of the morn,I hear the full tone of the sweet sounding horn;
The sportsmen with shoutings all hail the new day,
And swift run the hounds o'er the hills far away.
Across the deep valley their course they pursue,
And rush through the thickets yet silver'd with dew;
Nor hedges nor ditches their speed can delay—
Still sounds the sweet horn o'er the hills far away.
| Specimens of American poetry | |