The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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THE HUNTERS' DIRGE. |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
THE HUNTERS' DIRGE.
Ye woods, in Rishworth's verdant vale,
Which oft have echoed to the horn!
Ye rocky hills, that blushed so deep,
From hunters gay at early morn!
Which oft have echoed to the horn!
Ye rocky hills, that blushed so deep,
From hunters gay at early morn!
Weep, till your tears in crystal rills
Make winding Aire with grief run o'er,
That on the brown-robed heathy hills,
The huntsman's shout is heard no more.
Make winding Aire with grief run o'er,
That on the brown-robed heathy hills,
The huntsman's shout is heard no more.
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Ye Nimrods old, who heard the sounds
By changing echoes borne away,
Who crossed the moors in joyful chase,
And pleasure, on the sportive day!
By changing echoes borne away,
Who crossed the moors in joyful chase,
And pleasure, on the sportive day!
Go sit, where you unearthed the fox,
And mourn till echo hear and weep;
Wet, with your tears, the time-worn rocks,
That modern squires no huntsmen keep;
And mourn till echo hear and weep;
Wet, with your tears, the time-worn rocks,
That modern squires no huntsmen keep;
Mourn o'er great Parker's ancient race;
Round Marley Hall in sorrow tread;
Where dwelt the glory of the chase,
Who oft the noble sportsmen led.
Round Marley Hall in sorrow tread;
Where dwelt the glory of the chase,
Who oft the noble sportsmen led.
Then take the horn, the requiem blow,
O'er rural bliss that now is lost,
And sound the dirge o'er those laid low,
Who never sighed at hunting's cost!
O'er rural bliss that now is lost,
And sound the dirge o'er those laid low,
Who never sighed at hunting's cost!
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |