Rhymes of Northern Bards / Being a Curious Collection of Old and New Songs and Poems, Peculiar to the Counties of Newcastle upon Tyne, Northumberland, and Durham

A SONG (2)

Written principally by Mr George Pickering, and sung by a Member of the Forest Hunt, Newcastle, at the Conclusion of the Season, March 29th, 1786; and afterwards at the Theatre Royal, by Mr Marshall.

Since Winter’s keen blast must to Zephyr give place,

We resign, for a season, the joys of the chase;

The cry of the hounds and of hunters must cease,

And puss thro’ the woodlands may ramble in peace;

In peace let her ramble, regardless and free,

Till the horn’s cheerful note shall awake us with glee;

Till October returns, let her frolic and play,

And then we’ll pursue her with “Hark, hark away.”

With hark, hark away,

And then we’ll pursue her with hark, hark away!

When ting’d were the hills with the crimson of morn,

We jocundly rose to the sound of the horn;

Triumphant its melody swell’d o’er the plain,

While the heath-cover’d mountains re-echo’d the strain:

Hark, hark! was the mandate, we flew like the wind,

And care’s haggard visage was distanc’d behind:

What joys can be equal to those we display,

When we follow the harriers with hark, hark away!

With hark, hark away, &c.

Like the soldier return’d from a far hostile shore,

Recounting his toils and his victories o’er,

Of the battle’s loud din, where his courage so true,

Obtain’d the green laurel, entwining his brow.

Of chases now past let our narrative be,

Till Winter’s pale hand shall dismantle the tree;

Then, then to the forest exultingly stray,

And cheer the fleet harriers with hark, hark away.

With hark, hark away, &c.

Then fill up your glasses—yet fill as you chuse,

Here’s a health, brother sportsmen, which none can refuse;

A health that with pleasure our club shall inspire,

While hunting delights, or while hounds we admire:—

See, see, how I fill it—’tis Colpitts[66] I toast,

Of our Hunt may he long be the pride and the boast,

And oft may we meet him with joys like to-day,

And long may he lead us with hark, hark away.

With hark, hark away,

And long may he lead us with hark, hark away.

[66] George Colpitts, Esq. of Killingworth, the worthy Master of the Forest Hunt.—He died October 30th, 1793, universally regretted.

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