“_Bright Chanticleer proclaims the dawn._”
The moon’s eclipse proclaims our hunt,
The graves release their dead,
The common man lifts up the wood,
The lord springs from the lead;
The lady-corpses hurry on,
To join the ghostly crowds,
And off we go, with a ho! so--ho!
A--hunting in the clouds.
With a hey, ho, chivey!
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy!
&c.
No hill, no dale, no glen, no mire,
No dew, no night, no storm,
No earth, no water, air, nor fire,
Can do wild huntsmen harm.
We laugh at what the living dread,
And throw aside our shrouds,
And off we go, with a ho! so--ho!
A--hunting in the clouds.
With a hey, ho, chivey!
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy,
&c.
Oft, when by body-snatchers stol’n,
And surgeons for us wait,
Some honest watchmen take the rogues
To be examined straight,
We slip away from surgeons, and
From police-office crowds,
And off we go, with a ho! so--ho!
A--hunting in the clouds.
With a hey, ho, chivey!
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy!
&c.
* * * * *