Nor song, nor harp, nor maiden’s charms,
Nor blazing hearth, nor well-heaped board,
Nor banquet spread by liberal lord,
Nor stag pursuing, nor gentle wooing,
The dearest of dear trades to me.
Alas! that I should live to see
Days without mirth in hut or hall
Without the hunter’s wakeful call,
Or bay of hounds, or hounds at all,
Without light jest, or sportive whim