HUNTING SONGS 



III 

 England's green pastures are graz'd in security. 



Thanks to the Saxon who car'd for our flocks ! 

 He who reserving the sport for futurity. 

 Sweeping our wolves away left us the fox. 

 When joviality 

 Chases formality, 

 When hospitality 



Cellars unlocks ; 

 Song shall declare a way 

 How to drive care away. 

 Pain and despair away. 

 Hunting the fox ! 



Sport in the Highlands 



WRITTEN AT TOLLY HOUSE IN ROSS-SHIRE 



I 



UP in the morning ! the river runs merrily. 

 Clouds are above and the breezes blow cool, 

 Tie the choice fly now, and casting it warily. 

 Fish the dark ripple that curls o'er the pool ; 

 Steadily play with him. 

 On through the spray with him. 

 Gaff:, and away with him, 



On to the shore ! 

 Pastime at Tolly now, 

 Oh ! it is jolly now, 

 Sad melancholy now 

 Haunts us no more ! 



74 



