Raisest the weary spirit to its tone,
And givest to labor’s cheek the glow of health.
Now, in the rosy morn, the spotted hounds
Before the mounted Huntsmen hie away.
O’er fields and meadows, onward see them go,
Scaling the walls, and trampling down the corn.
And now they penetrate the forest shade,
And from the sylvan dell, and wood-capt hill,
The deep-mouthed bay with wild halloo is heard,
Swelling in cadence to the hunter’s horn.