THE HUNTERS OF MEN.
Have ye heard of our hunting, our mountain and glen
Through cane-brake and forest—the hunting of men?
The lords of our land to this hunting have gone,
As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn:
Hark—the cheer and the hallo! the crack of the whip,
And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip!
All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match—
Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch:
So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest—the hunting of men!
Gay luck to our hunters!—how nobly they ride
In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride!—
The Priest with his cassock flung back on the wind,
Just screening the politic Statesman behind—
The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer—
The drunk and the sober, ride merrily there.
And woman—kind woman—wife, widow and maid—
