THE dusky night rides down the sky, And ushers in the morn: The hounds all join in glorious cry, The huntsman winds his horn, And a hunting we will go. The wife around her husband throws Her arms to make him stay; "My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows; You cannot hunt to-day." Yet a hunting we will go. A brushing fox in yonder wood, Secure to find we seek; For why, I carried sound and good A cartload there last week. And a-hunting we will go. Away they fly to 'scape the rout, Their steeds they soundly switch; Some are thrown in, and some thrown out, And some thrown in the ditch. Yet a hunting we will go. Sly Reynard now like lightning flies, And sweeps across the vale; And when the hounds too near he spies, He drops his bushy tail. Then a hunting we will go. Fond Echo seems to like the sport, And join the jovial cry; The woods, the hills, the sound retort, And music fills the sky, When a hunting we do go. At last his strength to faintness worn, Poor Reynard ceases flight; Then hungry, homeward we return, To feast away the night, And a drinking we do go. Ye jovial hunters, in the morn Prepare then for the chase; Rise at the sounding of the horn And health with sport embrace, When a hunting we do go. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LENTEN GREETING; TO A LADY by GEORGE SANTAYANA STANZAS TO THE PO by GEORGE GORDON BYRON NATURES COOK by MARGARET LUCAS CAVENDISH THE THREE LITTLE KITTENS (A CAT'S TALE, WITH ADDITIONS) by ELIZA LEE CABOT FOLLEN BREAKFAST by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE SOUND OF THE SEA; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE TEMPERAMENTS by EZRA POUND |