Hunter’s Song

I know a mountain high, With its head against the sky, Where the stormy eagles fly East and west; There, at morning’s ruddy gleam, And in evening’s purple beam, I have heard the nursling scream From the nest!

O, I love that mountain high, With its head against the sky, And the hungry nurslings’ cry, All forlorn; For as winds went to and fro, Cutting furrows through the snow, In a hunter’s hut so low, I was born.

O, I love the rocky glade, Where my little brothers played, Where together they are laid In green beds; With a water murmuring nigh Its eternal lullaby, And a blue strip of the sky At their heads.