Hark, away! 'tis the merry-ton'd horn

Hark, away! 'tis the merry-ton'd horn Calls the hunters all up with the morn: To the hills and the woodlands we steer, To unharbour the out-lying deer.

And all the day long This, this is our song, Still hallooing And following So frolic and free; Our joys know no bounds, While we're after the hounds; No mortals on earth are so happy as we.

Round the woods when we beat, how we glow, While the hills they all echo, hillo! With a bounce from his cover he flies, Then our shouts shall resound to the skies. And all the, day long, &c.

When we sweep o'er the valleys, or climb Up the health-breathing mountain sublime, What a joy from our labours we feel! Which alone they who taste can reveal. And all the day long, &c.

At night, when our labour is done, Then we will go hallooing home, With a halloo, halloo, and a huzza! Resolving to meet the next day. And all the day long, &c.