Bill,

Found I had that time sooner rather than later. I sure hope your mouth is in order for this one. Thank goodness you have an oral source. Archie Fisher sings the chorus slowly like a long horn blast and then runs along with the verses as if on the hunt. Great song.

THE KIELDER HUNT
James Armstrong of Redesdale (1800's)

Verse I
Hark! Hark! I hear Lang Will's clear voice sound through the Kielder Glenn,
Where the raven flaps her gossy wing and the fell fox has his den,
There the shepherds they are gathering up wi' monie a guid yald grew,
An' wiry terrier game an' keen an' foxhound fleet and true.

Chorus:
Hark away! Hark away!
O'er the bonnie hills o' Kielder, hark away.

Verse II
There's Moudy frae Emmethaugh an' Royal frae Bakethinn,
There's hounds frae Reed an' Kielderhead, an' Ruby by the Linn;
An' hounds of fame frae Irthingside, they try baith moss an' crag,
Hark! Hark! That's Moudy's loud clear note, he has bold Reynard's drag.

Verse III
Away an' away o'er hill and dale an' up by yonder stell,
The music o' the gallant pack resounds o'er muir and dell;
See yon herd callant waves his plaid, list yon loud tally-ho,
The fox is up an' breaks away o'er the edge o' Hawkhope Flowe.

Verse IV
Hark forrit! Hark ye galland hounds, hark onwart, hark away.
He kens the hauds on Tosson hills, he kens the holes at Rae;
There's no a den roun' the Kail stane but he kens weel I trow,
An' a' the holes on Lariston he kens them thro' and thro'.

Verse V
There's Wanny's Crags an' Sewingshields, and Christenbury too,
Or if he win to Hareshaw Linn ye may bid him adieu;
The Key-Heugh an' the Cloven-Crags, the Cove, an' Darna' ha',
Chatlephope-Spout an' the Wily-holes, auld foxy kens them a'.

Verse VI
Away an' away o'er bank an' brae they drive the wily game,
Where Moudy, Ruby, Royal still uphaud their glorious fame;
An' see the lish yald shepherd lads how Monkside heights they climb,
They're the pride o' a' the borders wide for wind and wiry limb.

Verse VII
Thro' yon wild glen they view him now right for the Yearning LInn,
By cairn an' crag, o'er moss and hagg, sae glorious was the din;
Weel dune, hurrah! They've run him doun, yon's Moudy twirls him now,
Tthe hunt is done, his brush is won, I hear the death halloo.

Verse III
Then here's to Will o' Emmethough, for he's a sportsman true,
Here's to Robie o' Bakethinn, and Rob o' Kielder too;
At the Hopes, Bewshough, an' Kersie Cleuch, Skaup, Riggend, an' the Law,
In Tyne, an' Reed, and Irvinghead, they're gallant sportsmen a'.

judy