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And the frost shrinks back, like a beater hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground. Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by, And leave us alone in the clear gray sky Our horses are ready and steady. -So, ho! I'm gone, like a dart from the Tartar's bow. Hark, hark! Who calleth the maiden Morn
From her sleep in the woods and the
Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found,
And over the stream, at a mighty bound, And over the high lands, and over the low, O'er furrows, o'er meadows, the hunters go! Away! as a hawk flies full at its prey, So flieth the hunter, away, - away!
From the burst at the cover till set of sun, When the red fox dies, and - the day is
done! Hark, hark! is borne?
What sound on the wind
'Tis the conquering voice of the hunter's
The horn, - the horn! The merry, bold voice of the hunter's horn. Sound Sound the horn! To the hunter good
What's the gulley deep or the roaring flood? Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark, hark! Now, home! and dream till morn
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter' horn!
The horn, -the horn! O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter's horn!