1.
Hear ye the Alpine horn,
Sweetly it sounds
While breaks the rosy morn,
And the roe bounds.
Gaily its music
On the air thrills,
It speaks in the valley
The voice of the hills.
Ai ye ho!
2.
Up to the mountain brow,
Down in the vale,
O'er beds of trackless snow,
Breasting the gale;
See the young hunter,
Seeking his game;
No ice-cliff nor torrent
His spirit can tame.
Ai ye ho!
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