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Sir Henry Newbolt - A Song Of Exmoor
Work rating: Low

The Forest above and the Combe below,
  On a bright September morn!
He`s the soul of a clod who thanks not God
  That ever his body was born!
So hurry along, the stag`s afoot,
  The Master`s up and away!
Halloo! Halloo! we`ll follow it through
From Bratton to Porlock Bay!

    So hurry along, the stag`s afoot,
      The Master`s up and away!
    Halloo! Halloo! we`ll follow it through
      From Bratton to Porlock Bay!

Hark to the tufters` challenge true,
  `Tis a note that the red-deer knows!
His courage awakes, his covert he breaks,
  And up for the moor he goes!
He`s all his rights and seven on top,
  His eye`s the eye of a king,
And he`ll beggar the pride of some that ride
  Before he leaves the ling!

Here comes Antony bringing the pack,
  Steady! he`s laying them on!
By the sound of their chime you may tell that it`s time
  To harden your heart and be gone.
Nightacott, Narracott, Hunnacott`s passed,
  Right for the North they race:
He`s leading them straight for Blackmoor Gate,
  And he`s setting a pounding pace!

We`re running him now on a breast-high scent,
  But he leaves us standing still;
When we swing round by Westland Pound
  He`s far up Challacombe Hill.
The pack are a string of struggling ants,
  The quarry`s a dancing midge,
They`re trying their reins on the edge of the Chains
  While he`s on Cheriton Ridge.

He`s gone by Kittuck and Lucott Moor,
  He`s gone by Woodcock`s Ley;
By the little white town he`s turned him down,
  And he`s soiling in open sea.
So hurry along, we`ll both be in,
  The crowd are a parish away!
We`re a field of two, and we`ve followed it through
From Bratton to Porlock Bay!

    So hurry along, we`ll both be in,
      The crowd are a parish away!
    We`re a field of two, and we`ve followed it through
      From Bratton to Porlock Bay!
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