 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
SLAYING THE DEER.
In the woods, hunters say,
It is glorious and gay
To rush thro' their sporting career,
When the leaves, falling red,
Yield a ready-made bed,
Where they rest after slaying The Deer;
On the venison steak
Jovial feasting they make,
And the flask, going round, helps the cheer,
While the logs, blazing bright,
Keep them warm thro' the night,
When they rest after slaying The Deer.
It is glorious and gay
To rush thro' their sporting career,
When the leaves, falling red,
Yield a ready-made bed,
Where they rest after slaying The Deer;
158
Jovial feasting they make,
And the flask, going round, helps the cheer,
While the logs, blazing bright,
Keep them warm thro' the night,
When they rest after slaying The Deer.
But I know a sport
Which is safer resort,
For wives will repine when, too far
You are tempted to steer,
In pursuit of the deer,
And they wonder “wherever you are.”
So give me the sleigh
On the white frozen way,
With woman beside me to cheer
Who is never complaining
How long you're remaining
When thus you are sleighing The Dear.
Which is safer resort,
For wives will repine when, too far
You are tempted to steer,
In pursuit of the deer,
And they wonder “wherever you are.”
So give me the sleigh
On the white frozen way,
With woman beside me to cheer
Who is never complaining
How long you're remaining
When thus you are sleighing The Dear.
While we gallop full speed,
As we run we may read
She rejoices how fast we have got on,
While the proud little minx,
Wrapped in Bear-skin or Lynx,
Just looks like a diamond in cotton.
Her cheek, red as rose,
(We wo'nt speak of her nose)
Oh, beauty's a delicate thing,
Of a bloom on the cheek,
Any poet can speak,
But a rose on the nose we can't sing.
As we run we may read
She rejoices how fast we have got on,
While the proud little minx,
Wrapped in Bear-skin or Lynx,
Just looks like a diamond in cotton.
Her cheek, red as rose,
(We wo'nt speak of her nose)
Oh, beauty's a delicate thing,
Of a bloom on the cheek,
Any poet can speak,
But a rose on the nose we can't sing.
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But never did I
In a sleigh hear a sigh,
In fact, there's no time there for fretting;
As fast as the wind
We leave sorrow behind,
While the cold is our appetite whetting.
When the stomach's in order,
No mental disorder
Upon any mortal can prey:—
If your Dear's temper's crost,
Pray at once for the frost,
And fix her right into a sleigh.
In a sleigh hear a sigh,
In fact, there's no time there for fretting;
As fast as the wind
We leave sorrow behind,
While the cold is our appetite whetting.
When the stomach's in order,
No mental disorder
Upon any mortal can prey:—
If your Dear's temper's crost,
Pray at once for the frost,
And fix her right into a sleigh.
If she would, she can't scold,
For the weather's so cold
Her mouth she can't open at all;
In vain would she cry,
For the tears in her eye
Would be frozen before they could fall:
Then hurra for the snow!
As we merrily go,
The bells my fleet horses can cheer,
While the belle by my side
Is my joy and my pride,
Oh—there's nothing like sleighing The Dear!
For the weather's so cold
Her mouth she can't open at all;
In vain would she cry,
For the tears in her eye
Would be frozen before they could fall:
Then hurra for the snow!
As we merrily go,
The bells my fleet horses can cheer,
While the belle by my side
Is my joy and my pride,
Oh—there's nothing like sleighing The Dear!
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |