Classic Poem

Merrily winds the hunter's horn,
And loud the ban of dogs replying,
When before the shout of the fleet-foot morn,
The shadows of night are flying.

Sullen the boar in the deep green wood,
And proud the stag that roams the forest,
And noble the steed with his warlike blood,
That exults when the toil is sorest.

Fair is the land of hill and plain,
And lonesome dells in misty mountains;
And the crags where eagles in tempest reign,
And swan-loved lakes and fountains.

These are the joys that hunters find,
Whate'er the sky that's bending o'er them,
When they leave their cares on their beds behind,
And earth is all fresh before them.

Day ever chases away the night,
And wind pursues the waves of ocean,
And the stars are brother-like hunters bright,
And all is in ceaseless motion,

Life is a chase, and so 'tis joy,
And hope foretells the hunter's morrow;
'Tis the skill of man and the bliss of boy
To gallop away from sorrow.