 | Songs and ballads |  |
52
THE HUNTING MORN.
Up! up! it is the hunting morn,
The woodland rings with mirth,
The flowers in dew and light are born,
And merry wakes the earth!
The deer are trooping down the glen
To drink the waters clear.
Up! up! again, my greenwood men!
To-day we hunt the deer.
The woodland rings with mirth,
The flowers in dew and light are born,
And merry wakes the earth!
The deer are trooping down the glen
To drink the waters clear.
Up! up! again, my greenwood men!
To-day we hunt the deer.
The stag leaps by—away we fly—
No coward rein hangs back;
The baying hounds in chorus high
Close follow on the track;
Whilst Echo, hid from human ken,
Awakes each hollow near—
With “Up again, my greenwood men!
To-day we hunt the deer.”
No coward rein hangs back;
The baying hounds in chorus high
Close follow on the track;
Whilst Echo, hid from human ken,
Awakes each hollow near—
With “Up again, my greenwood men!
To-day we hunt the deer.”
The tar may boast his wingéd ship,
That sports 'mid wave and breeze;
My flag and ship are horse and whip,
And spreading plains my seas!
Can tars say when, from Ocean's den,
Such jovial strains they hear,
As—“Up again, my greenwood men!
To-day we hunt the deer.”
That sports 'mid wave and breeze;
My flag and ship are horse and whip,
And spreading plains my seas!
Can tars say when, from Ocean's den,
Such jovial strains they hear,
As—“Up again, my greenwood men!
To-day we hunt the deer.”
| Songs and ballads | |