Hark! hark! the joy-inspiring horn

Hark! hark! the joy-inspiring horn Salutes the rosy rising morn, And echoes thro' the dale; With clam' rous peals the hills resound, The hounds, quick-scented, scow'r the ground, And snuff the fragrant gale.

Nor gates nor hedges can impede The brisk, high-mettled, starting steed, While ardent we pursue; Like lightning darting o'er the plain, The distant hills with speed we gain, And see the game in view.

Her path the timid hare forsakes, And to the copse for shelter makes, There pants a while for breath; When now the noise alarms her car, Her haunts descry'd, her fate is near, She sees approaching death.

Directed by the well-known breeze, The hounds their trembling victim seize, She faints, she falls, she dies; The distant coursers now come in, And join the loud triumphant din, Till echo rends the skies.