The Ballad of the Fox Hunter - Loreena McKennitt

Lay me in a cushioned chair

Carry me, ye four

With cushions here and cushions 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 chair upon the grass

Bring Rody and his hounds

That I might contented pass

From these earthly bounds

His eyelids drop, his head falls low

His old eyes cloud with dreams

The sun falls on all things that grow

Falls in sleepy streams

Brown Lollard treads upon the lawn

And to the armchair goes

There the old man’s dreams are gone

He smoothes the long, brown nose

And now moves many affable tongue

Upon his wasted hands

Leading aged hounds and young

The huntsman near him stands

The servants round his cushioned place

Are with new sorry wrung

The hounds are gazing on his face

The aged hounds and young

The fire is in the old man’s eyes

His fingers move and sway

When the wandering music dies

They hear him feebly say:

«Oh huntsman, Rody, blow the horn

Make the hills reply

I cannot blow upon my horn

I can’t but weep and sigh»

One blind hound lies apart

On the sun-smitten grass

He holds commune with his heart

The moments pass and pass

The blind hound with a mournful wail

He lifts his wintry head

The servants bear the body in

The hounds wail for the dead

Huntsman, Rody, blow the horn

Make the hills reply

Huntsman, Rody, blow the horn

Make the hills reply

Huntsman, Rody, blow the horn

Make the hills reply

The huntsman loosens on the morn

A gay and mournful cry