| Lyrics: | THE HORN OF THE HUNTER
1. For forty long years have we known him,
Cumberland
yeoman of old,
And twice forty years shall have perished,
Ere the fame of his deeds
shall grow cold.
No broadcloth of scarlet adorned him
No buckskin as white as the
snow.
Of plain Skiddaw gray was his garment,
And he wore it for work, not for
show.
Chorus:
Now the horn of the hunter is silent,
On the banks of the
Ellen no more,
No more will we hear its wild echo,
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldews
roar.
2. When dark draws her mantle around us,
And cold by the fire bids us
steal,
Our children will say, "Father tell us
Some tales of the famous John
Peel."
And we'll tell them of Ranter and Royal,
Of Britain and Melody too,
how they rattled a fox round the Carrock
And drove him from scent into view.
3.
How often from Brathwait to Skiddaw,
Through Isel, Bewaldeth, Whitefield,
We
galloped like madmen together,
To follow the hounds of John Peel.
And though we may
hunt with another,
Til the hand of old age bids us yeild,
We will think on that
sportsman and brother,
And remember the hounds of John Peel.
from the singing
of Bok, Trickett and Muir. 1984.
@hunt
filename[ HORNHUNT
SF
===DOCUMENT
BOUNDARY |
