Of the redbird’s gentle chirping,
Of the blackbird’s noisy chatter,
Of the whippoorwill’s soft pleading,
And the ringdove’s tender cooing.
All these sounds, I trow, were welcome,
To the pioneer hunter,
Daniel Boone, the practiced hunter.
On the plains and hills I’m singing,
He has pitched his tent at nightfall,
And has laid him down to slumber,