Kilrudden ford, Kilrudden dale,
Kilrudden ruined in the gale
That wrecked the coast of Inishfree,
And Lal's last bed the plunging sea.




HUNTING-SONG: FROM "KING ARTHUR."


Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor,
When the horn is on the hill? (_Bugle:_ Tarantara!
With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing,
And a ten-tined buck to kill!

Before the sun goes down, goes down,
We shall slay the buck of ten; (_Bugle:_ Tarantara!
And the priest shall say benison, and we shall ha'e venison,
When we come home again.

Let him that loves his ease, his ease,
Keep close and house him fair; (_Bugle:_ Tarantara!
He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger
And the joy of the open air.

But he that loves the hills, the hills,
Let him come out to-day! (_Bugle:_ Tarantara!
For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are baying,