RISE! Sleep no more! ’T is a noble morn: <br />The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn, <br />And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound, <br />Under the steaming, steaming ground. <br />Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by, <br />And leave us alone in the clear gray sky! <br />Our horses are ready and steady.—So, ho! <br />I ’m gone, like a dart from the Tartar’s bow. <br /> Hark, hark!—Who calleth the maiden Morn <br /> From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn? <br /> The horn,—the horn! <br /> The merry, sweet ring of the hunter’s horn. <br /> <br />Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found, <br />And over the stream, at a mighty bound, <br />And over the high lands, and over the low, <br />O’er furrows, o’er meadows, the hunters go! <br />Away!—as a hawk flies full at its prey, <br />So flieth the hunter, away,—away! <br />From the burst at the cover till set of sun, <br />When the red fox dies, and—the day is done! <br /> Hark, hark!—What sound on the wind is borne? <br /> ’T is the conquering voice of the hunter’s horn. <br /> The horn,—the horn! <br /> The merry, bold voice of the hunter’s horn. <br /> <br />Sound! Sound the horn! To the hunter good <br />What ’s the gulley deep or the roaring flood? <br />Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds, <br />At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds. <br />O, what delight can a mortal lack, <br />When he once is firm on his horse’s back, <br />With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong, <br />And the blast of the horn for his morning song? <br /> Hark, hark!—Now, home! and dream till morn <br /> Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter’s horn! <br /> The horn,—the horn! <br /> O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter’s horn!<br /><br />Barry Cornwall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hunter-s-song/
