Bright Phoebus

Bright Phoebus has mounted the charriot of day, And the horns and the hounds call each sportsman away. Thro' woods and thro' meadows with speed now they bound, While health, rosy health, is in exercise found.

Hark away! hark away! hark away is the word to the sound of the horn, And echo, and echo, and echo, blithe echo, makes jovial the morn.

Each hill and each valley is lovely to view, While puss flies the covert, and dogs quick pursue, Behold where she flies o'er the wide spreading plain, While the loud op'ning pack pursue her amain.

At length puss is caught, and lies panting for breath, And the shout of the hunsman's a signal of death. No joys can delight like the sports of the field, To hunting all pleasures and pastime must yield.