Four Favourite Songs (Newton-Stewart)/Old Towler

OLD TOWLER.

Bright Chanticlear proclaims the dawn, And spangles deck the thorn,The lowling herds now quit the lawn, The lark springs from the corn;Dogs, huntsmen, round the window throng, Fleet Towler leads the cry;Arise the burden of my song, This day a stag must die.

  With a hey, ho, chevy,  Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy,  Hark, hark, tantivy,  This day a stag must die.

The cordial takes its merry round, The laugh and joke prevail,The huntsman blows a jovial sound, The dogs snuff up the gale;The upland winds they sweep along O’er fields, through brakes they fly,The game is roused, too true the song, This day a stag must die.

Poor stag! the dogs thy haunches gore, The tears run down thy face,The huntsman’s pleasure is no more, His joys were in the chace;Alike the generous sportsman burns To win the blooming fair,But yet he honours each by turns, They each become his care.