Hunting The Hare

Over hill and plain they´re bounding,
Thro` the air they seem to fly,
Hark! the merry horn is sounding,
Hear the hunter`s papy cry!
Now through dingle, dell and hollow,
Dart they on at fearless pace:
Oh! what joy the hounds to follow,
There`s no pleasure like the chase.

When the day`s glad sport is over,
Seated in the Barons hall,
Round the festive board discover,
Gallant hunter`s one and all.
Laughing loudly, joking, singing,
As the wine goes round apace,
While the ancient roof is ringing
With the glories of the chase!