HUNTING-SONG

From "King Arthur"

OH, who would stay indoor, indoor,

When the horn is on the hill? (Bugle: Tarantara!
With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing,
And a ten-tined buck to kill!

Before the sun goes down, goes down,

We shall slay the buck of ten; (Bugle: Tarantara!
And the priest shall say benison, and we shall ha'e venison,
When we come home again.

Let him that loves his ease,

his ease,

Keep close and house him fair; (Bugle: Tarantara!

He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger
And the joy of the open air.

But he that loves the hills, the hills,

Let him come out to-day! (Bugle: Tarantara!

For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are baying,
And the hunt's up, and away!

Richard Hovey [1864-1900]

From "Don Quixote in England"

THE dusky night rides down the sky,
And ushers in the morn;

The hounds all join in glorious cry,

The huntsman winds his horn.

And a-hunting we will go.

The wife around her husband throws
Her arms to make him stay;
"My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows;

You cannot hunt to-day."

Yet a-hunting we will go.

The Angler's Invitation

Away they fly to 'scape the rout,

Their steeds they soundly switch;
Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
And some thrown in the ditch.

Yet a-hunting we will go.

Sly Reynard now like lightning flies,
And sweeps across the vale;

And when the hounds too near he spies,

He drops his bushy tail.

Then a-hunting we will go.

Fond Echo seems to like the sport,

And join the jovial cry;

The woods, the hills, the sound retort,

And music fills the sky,

When a-hunting we do go.

At last his strength to faintness worn,
Poor Reynard ceases flight;
Then hungry, homeward we return,

To feast away the night.

And a-drinking we do go.

Ye jovial hunters, in the morn
Prepare then for the chase;

Rise at the sounding of the horn
And health with sport embrace,

When a-hunting we do go.

1663

Henry Fielding (1707-1754]

THE ANGLER'S INVITATION

COME when the leaf comes, angle with me,
Come when the bee hums over the lea,

Come with the wild flowers

Come with the wild showers

Come when the singing bird calleth for thee!

Then to the stream side, gladly we'll hie,
Where the gray trout glide silently by,
Or in some still place

Over the hill face

Hurrying onward, drop the light fly.

Then, when the dew falls, homeward we'll speed
To our own loved walls down on the mead,
There, by the bright hearth,

Holding our night mirth,

We'll drink to sweet friendship in need and in deed. Thomas Tod Stoddart [1810-1880]

THE ANGLER'S WISH

From "The Complete Angler "

I IN these flowery meads would be,
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I, with my angle, would rejoice,

Sit here, and see the turtle-dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love;

Or, on that bank, feel the west-wind
Breathe health and plenty; please my mind,
To see sweet dewdrops kiss these flowers,
And then washed off by April showers;
Here, hear my Kenna sing a song:
There, see a blackbird feed her young,

Or a laverock build her nest;

Here, give my weary spirits rest,

And raise my low-pitched thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love:

Thus, free from lawsuits, and the noise
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice;

Or, with my Bryan and a book,
Loiter long days near Shawford brook;
There sit by him, and eat my meat;
There see the sun both rise and set;
There bid good morning to next day;
There meditate my time away;

And angle on; and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.
Isaac Walton [1593-1683]

We have gentles in a horn,

We have paste and worms too; We can watch both night and morn, Suffer rain and storms too;