The Hunter's Carol.

A merry life does the hunter lead!
    He wakes with the dawn of day;
He whistles his dog--he mounts his steed,
    And scuds to he woods away!
The lightsome tramp of the deer he'll mark,
    As they troop in herds along;
And his rifle startles the cheerful lark
    As he carols his morning song!

The hunter's life is the life for me!--
    That is the life for a man!
Let others sing of a home on the sea,
    But match me the woods if you can!
Then give me a gun--I've an eye to mark
    The deer as they bound along!--
My steed, dog, and gun, and the cheerful lark
    To carol my morning song!

George Pope Morris

George Pope Morris was an American editor, poet, and songwriter. Born on October 10, 1802, he made significant contributions to American literature and music. Morris co-founded and edited the New York Evening Mirror, where he published works by Edgar Allan Poe and others. He is perhaps best known for his song "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" and his role in the early 19th-century literary scene. Morris died on July 6, 1864, leaving behind a legacy of editorial and creative work that influenced many American writers and musicians.

George Pope Morris

The Pastor's Daughter.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Deliver Us From Evil.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Near the Lake.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Janet McRea.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Stag-Hunt.

The morning is breaking--
    The stag is away!
The hounds and the hunters
    The signal obey!
The horn bids the echoes
    Awake as we go,
And nature is jocund
    With hark!--tally-ho!
            Hark away!
                Tally-ho!

Hark forward!--Tantivy!--
    The woodland resounds
With shouts of the sportsmen
    To cheer on the hounds!
The horse and his rider,
    The deer and his foe,
Dash by to the music
    Of hark!--tally-ho!
            (He's at bay!)
                Tally-ho!

George Pope Morris

Hunter's Song

The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,
Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.

It was a stag, a stag of ten,
Bearing its branches sturdily;
He came silently down the glen,
Ever sing hardily, hardily.

It was there he met with a wounded doe,
She was bleeding deathfully;
She warned him of the toils below,
O so faithfully, faithfully!

He had an eye, and he could heed,
Ever sing so warily, warily;
He had a foot, and he could speed
Hunters watch so narrowly.

Walter Scott

Wind Thy Horn, My Hunter Boy.

Wind thy horn, my hunter boy,
    And leave thy lute's inglorious sighs;
Hunting is the hero's joy,
    Till war his nobler game supplies.
Hark! the hound-bells ringing sweet,
While hunters shout and the, woods repeat,
        Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho!

Wind again thy cheerful horn,
    Till echo, faint with answering, dies:
Burn, bright torches, burn till morn,
    And lead us where the wild boar lies.
Hark! the cry, "He's found, he's found,"
While hill and valley our shouts resound.
        Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho!

Thomas Moore

Song of the Reapers.

Joyous the carol that rings in the mountains,
While the cleared vales are refreshed by the fountains--
After the harvest the cheerful notes fall,
And all the glad reapers re-echo the call!
                        La ra la la, &c.

Oh, how the heart bounds at that simple refrain!
Dear haunts of my childhood, I'm with you again!
Green be your valleys, enriched by the rills,
And long may that carol be sung on your hills!
                        La ra la la, &c.

George Pope Morris

Hunting Song

Ye darksome Woods where Echo dwells,
Where every bud with freedom swells
To meet the glorious day:
The morning breaks; again rejoice;
And with old Ringwood's well-known voice
Bid tuneful Echo play.

We come, ye Groves, ye Hills, we come:
The vagrant Fox shall hear: his doom,
And dread our jovial train.
The shrill Horn sounds, the courser flies,
While every Sportsman joyful cries,
'There's Ringwood's voice again.'

Ye Meadows, hail the coming throng;
Ye peaceful Streams that wind along,
Repeat the Hark-away:
Far o'er the Downs, ye Gales that sweep,
The daring Oak that crowns the steep,
The roaring peal convey.

The chiming notes of chearful Hounds,
Hark! how the hollow Dale resounds;
The sunny Hills how gay.
But where's t...

Robert Bloomfield

Hunting Song

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is here
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear,
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily mingle they
Waken, lords and ladies gay.

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray;
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay.

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall ...

Walter Scott