The American Songster, Song

Do you hear, brother sportsmen, the sound of the horn, And yet the sweet pleasure decline? For shame, rouze your senses, and, ere it is morn, With me the sweet melody join.

Through the wood and the valley the traitor well rally, Nor quit him till panting he lies; While hounds, in full cry, thro' hedges shall fly, And chace the swift hare till he dies.

Then saddle your steed, to the meadows and fields Both willing and joyous repair; No pastime in life greater happiness yields Then chacing the fox and the hare.

For such comforts, my friend, on the sportsman attend, No pleasure like hunting is found, For when it is o'er, as brisk as before, Next morning we spurn up the ground.