This page has been validated.
7
The cordial takes its merry round,
The laugh and joke prevail,
The huntsman blows a jovial sound,
The dogs snuff up the gale;
The upland winds they sweep along
O’er fields, through brakes they fly,
The game is roused, too true the song,
This day a stag must die.
The laugh and joke prevail,
The huntsman blows a jovial sound,
The dogs snuff up the gale;
The upland winds they sweep along
O’er fields, through brakes they fly,
The game is roused, too true the song,
This day a stag must die.
Poor stag! the dogs thy haunches gore,
The tears run down thy face,
The huntsman’s pleasure is no more,
His joys were in the chace;
Alike the generous sportsman burns
To win the blooming fair,
But yet he honours each by turns,
They each become his care.
The tears run down thy face,
The huntsman’s pleasure is no more,
His joys were in the chace;
Alike the generous sportsman burns
To win the blooming fair,
But yet he honours each by turns,
They each become his care.
PEASE-STRAE.
When John and me were married,
Our hading was but sma’,
For my minnie, cankert carlin,
Would gie us nocht ava;
Our hading was but sma’,
For my minnie, cankert carlin,
Would gie us nocht ava;
