Here's another copy, from http://www.nehalemtel.net/~reiver/keilder.htm.
It differs from the above mainly in spelling, but since spelling is such an uncertain thing, having an extra copy might make it easier for future searchers to find.

THE KEILDER HUNT

1. Hark, hark! I hear long Wull's clear voice soundin' thro' the Keilder Glen,
Whaur the raven flaps her glossy wing, and the fell fox has his den,
Whaur the shepherd lads were getherin' up wi' mony a guaid yald grew,
Wi' wily terrier gim' an' keen, an' fox-hund fleet and true.

CHORUS: Hark away, hark away!
Ower the bonny hills o' Keilder, hark away!

2. There was Moudy frae Emmetha'. There was Royal frae Bakethin.
There were hunds frae Reed an' Keilder Heid an' Ruby by the Linn.
There were hunds o' fame frae Irthingside. They try baith moss an' crag.
Hark, hark! That's Mowdie's loud, clear note. He has bold Reynard's drag. CHORUS

3. Away an' 'way o'er hill and dale, an' up by yonder Stell,
The music o' the gallant pack resounds o'er muir an' dell.
See yon herd callant waves his plaid. List his loud tally-ho.
The fox is up an' streaks away o'er the edge o' Hawkhope flow. CHORUS

4. Hark forra'd! Hark, ye gallant hunds! Hark forra'd, hark away!
He kens the holes on Tosson Hills. He kens the holes at Rae.
There's no a den roond the Kale stane, but he kens them, I trow,
An' a' the holes on Lerriston, he kens them throw an' throw. CHORUS

5. There's Wanny's Crags an' Sewin' Sheilds and Christenberry too,
Or if he win tae Hershaw Linn, ye may bid him adieu.
The Key Haugh an' the Cloven-Crags, the Cove an' Darna-Ha',
Chatelhope Spoots, the Wily Holes, auld foxy kens them a'. CHORUS

6. Away, away o'er bank an' brae, they drive the wily game,
Where Mowdie, Ruby, Royal still uphaud their glorious fame.
See yon liesh-yald shepherd lads, how Monkside heights they climb.
They're the pride o' a' the Borders wide, for wind and wiry limb. CHORUS

7. Throw 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 din', hurrah! They've run him doon. Yon's Mowdie twirls him now.
The hunt is done. His brush is won. I hear the death halloo. CHORUS

8. Then here's to Will o'Emmenthaugh, for he's a sportsman true.
Here's to Robbie o' Bakethin and Rob o' Kielder too.
At the Hope, Bewshaugh and Kersie-Cleuch, Skaup-Riggend an' the Law,
In Tyne and Reed and Irthing Heid, they're gallant sportsmen aa. CHORUS