The ballad of the foxhunter

'Lay me in a cushioned chair
Carry me, ye four,
With cushions here and there,
To see the world once more.

'To stable and to kennel go
Bring what there is to bring
Lead my Lollard to and fro,
Or gently in a ring.

'Put the chain upon the grass:
Bring Rody and his hounds,
That I may contented pass
From these earthly bounds.'

His eyelids droop, his head falls low,
His old eyes cloud with dreams
The sun upon all things that grow
Falls in sleepy streams.

Chorus:
'Huntsman, blow the horn,
Come make the hills reply.
Loosen on the morn
A gay wandering cry.
Rody, blow your horn.
Come make the hills reply'
'I cannot blow my horn,
But only weep and sigh.'

Lollard treads upon the lawn,
And to the armchair goes,
The old man's dreams are gone
He soothes the long brown nose.

Moves many a pleasant tongue
Upon his wasted hands,
Aged hounds and young
The huntsman near him stands

Chorus

Round his cushioned place
With new sorrow wrung:
Hounds gazing on his face,
Aged hounds and young

Fire in the old man's eyes,
His fingers move and sway,
The wandering music dies,
They hear him feebly say,

Chorus

The blind hound with a mournful cry
Slowly lifts his head
They bear the body in
The hounds wail for the dead.
The hounds wail for the dead
Wail for the dead.