Great Jove looks on us smiling, Our weapons are steel, And no danger we feel, With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, See, see our train advances, See how each skater lances; The Tritons shall blow Their conch-shells below, While a-skating we go, With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, To the sound of the merry horn. HARK! THE HOLLOW WOODS RESOUNDING. From ARMIGER's "Sportsman's Vocal Cabinet." HARK! the hollow woods resounding, Hark! how all the vales surrounding Now so swift o'er hills aspiring, Flying still, and still pursuing, See the fox, the hounds, the men ; Now they kill him, homeward hie him, Thus no sorrow e'er comes nigh them, Hark! the hollow woods resounding, Hark! how all the vales surrounding There are several versions of this song. THE TUNEFUL SOUND OF ROBIN'S HORN. THE tuneful sound of Robin's horn And let us meet the rising day. And through the greenwood let us go, With arrows keen and bended bow; There breathe the mountain's fresh'ning gale, For nature now is in her prime, When grass is green, and leaves are long, At noon, in some sequester'd glade, THE FOX-HUNTER'S HALL. YE fox-hunters, stag, ay, and hare-hunters too, Come hither, come hither, at jollity's call, To friendship, true friendship, the toast shall go round, And join in the revels at Fox-Hunter's Hall! The breeze of the morn, like the lip-kiss of love, While the sound of the horn, like a harp from above, Then hither, come hither, at jollity's call, And join in the revels at Fox-Hunter's Hall! What's life without love? and what's gold without health? A phantom, a fly-trap, or dream at the best; While health, love, and friendship, are treasures of wealth, And those that possess them with paradise blest; Then hither, come hither, at jollity's call, And join in the revels at Fox-Hunter's Hall! THE HEALTH OF SPORTING. Anonymous. Eighteenth century. KEEP silence, good folks, and I pray you attend, I'm a hunting physician, and cure ev'ry ill, Tally-ho, &c. Let the man who's disturbed by misfortune and care, Tally-ho, &c. Let him hear but the notes of the sweet swelling horn, Let the lovers who secretly simper and sigh, Brush up to 'em boldly and try 'em again, For women love sportsmen, as sportsmen love them. Should you chance to be blessed with a termagant wife, When madam her small-shot begins to let go, Tally-ho, &c. Ye poor forlorn devils, oppressed with the hip, As soon as the whimsy your fancy surrounds, Tally-ho, &c. Come here, ye old codgers, whose nerves are unstrung, Come follow the hounds, and you'll hunt yourselves young. Tally-ho, &c. "Twill cure the short cough, and the rheumatic pain, Do but cry tally-ho, and you're all young again. Tally-ho, &c. If death, that old poacher, to smuggle you strives, Never heed his grim looks if your gelding can go, You cannot be caught while you cry tally-ho. Tally-ho, &c. WAKEN, LORDS AND LADIES GAY. SIR WALTER SCOTT. WAKEN, lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day, All the jolly chase is here, With horse, and hawk, and hunting spear! Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling. Merrily, merrily, mingle they, "Waken, lords and ladies gay." |