'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.'