Hills of Greenmore
On a fine summer's morning our horns they did blow,
To the green fields round Tassu where the huntsmen did go,
For to meet the bold sportsman from around Cady town,
None loved that sport better than the boys from May-down.
And when we arrived they were all standing there,
So we took to the green field in search of the hare.
We did not go far when someone gave cheer,
Over hills and high meadows the prey did appear.
When she got to the heather she tried them to shun
But our dogs never missed one inch where she'd run.
They kept well packed when going over the hill,
For the hounds had set out this sweet hare for to kill.
With our dogs all abreast and the big mountain hare,
And the sweet charming music it rang through the air,
Straight for the black bank for to try them once more,
But it was her last sight round the Hills of Greenmore.
And as we trailed on to where the hare she did lie,
She sprang to her feet for to bid them goodbye.
Their music it ceased, and a cry we could hear,
Saying bad luck to the ones brought ye May-down dogs here.
Last night as I lay quite content in the glen,
It was little I thought of the dogs or the men,
But when going home at the clear break of day,
I could hear the loud horn young Toner did play.
And now that I'm dying me sport it is done,
No more through the green fields on Cady I'll run,
Nor feed in the glen on a cold winter's night,
Or go home to my den when it's breaking daylight.
I blame old McMahon for bringing Coyle here,
He's been at the same caper for many's the year.
Every Saturday and Sunday, he never give oer,
With a pack of strange dogs round the Hills of Greenmore.
