G'day,
Here's another version of "Horn Of The Hunter"

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JOHN PEEL

Come listen, you lads that love hunting,
You sportsmen, so gallant and true;
I'll sing of a hero, the gamest
That ever old Cumberland knew;
With him I have often at morning,
Been out on the fells with the dawn;
John Peel was no feather-bed sluggard,
This all who knew him must own.

But the horn of the hunter is silent;
On the banks of the Ellen no more,
Nor in Denton is heard its wild echo;
Clear sounding o'er Cauda's dark roar.

By Caldbeck, by Sebrham, by Welton,
Through Rosley, through Raughton, we've sped;
By Carrick's broad bosom we've halloed,
When o'er it the hunt wildly fled;
John Peel would have outstripped both Nimrod,
And left him long miles to the rear;
The blast of Peel's horn in the morning
Was music no fox liked to hear.

How often from Brayton to Skiddaw,
Through Isel, Bewaldeth, Whitefield,
We galloped like mad things together
Until in the saddle we reeled.
No scarlet, no broadcloth adorned us
No buckskin that rivalled the snow
But plain Skiddaw grey was our garment
We wore it for work not for show.

Those days are long past, but they'll never
Pass out of the mind and the heart
They'll be sung the world over forever
As long as men join in the sport;
John Peel was a man like no other
The dearest of all men to me
And John Woodcock Graves I'll remember,
A hunter both happy and free.

'Mongst Cumberland hills Peel is sleeping
Old Skiddaw looks over his dust
In the wilds of Tasmania lies Graves
Whose spirit is with us I trust.
Let's think they are both here tonight lads
And give them the honour that's due;
Tally-ho! Tally-ho! Hark forward!
Hark forward! a fox is in view.

Ho, lads! oft when night draws its mantle,
As back from foxhunting I steal,
My children cry, "Father come sing us
The song about famous John Peel";
Then here's to all hunters forever
Our pledge a pint deep let us seal
Tally-ho! lads, again, Tally-ho!
Remembering the days of John Peel

Cheers,
Alan