'The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,--Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet, Hunters live so cheerily.
It was a stag, a stag of ten, Bearing its branches sturdily;He came stately down the glen,--
Ever sing hardily, hardily.
'It was there he met with a wounded doe, She was bleeding deathfully;She warned him of the toils below, O. so faithfully, faithfully!
'He had an eye, and he could heed,--
Ever sing warily, warily;
He had a foot, anti he could speed,--
Hunters watch so narrowly.'
