Classic Poem

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 today! ( Bugle: Tarantara! )
For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are baying,
And the hunt's up, and away!