RISE! Sleep no more! -T is a noble morn:
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn,
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground.
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by,
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky!
Our horses are ready and steady.-So, ho!
I -m gone, like a dart from the Tartar-s bow.
Hark, hark!-Who calleth the maiden Morn
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn?
The horn,-the horn!
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter-s horn.

Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found,
And over the stream, at a mighty bound,
And over the high lands, and over the low,
O-er furrows, o-er meadows, the hunters go!
Away!-as a hawk flies full at its prey,
So flieth the hunter, away,-away!
From the burst at the cover till set of sun,
When the red fox dies, and-the day is done!
Hark, hark!-What sound on the wind is borne?
-T is the conquering voice of the hunter-s horn.
The horn,-the horn!
The merry, bold voice of the hunter-s horn.

Sound! Sound the horn! To the hunter good
What -s the gulley deep or the roaring flood?
Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
O, what delight can a mortal lack,
When he once is firm on his horse-s back,
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark, hark!-Now, home! and dream till morn
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter-s horn!
The horn,-the horn!
O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter-s horn!