Hunting-Song

Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor, When the horn is on the hill? (Bugle: Tarantara! With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing, And a ten-tined buck to kill! Before the sun goes down, goes down, We shall slay the buck of ten; (Bugle: Tarantara! And the priest shall say benison, and we shall ha'e venison, When we come home again. Let him that loves his ease, his ease, Keep close and house him fair; (Bugle: Tarantara! He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger And the joy of the open air. But he that loves the hills, the hills, Let him come out to-day! (Bugle: Tarantara! For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are baying, And the hunt's up, and away!