"Lay me in a cushioned chair Carry me, ye four With cushions here and there To see the world once more
To stable and to kennel go Bring what there is to bring Lead my Lollard to and fro Or gently in a ring
Put the chair upon the grass Bring Rody and his hounds That I may contented pass From these earthly bounds."
His eyelids drop, his head falls low His old eyes cloud with dreams The sun falls on all things that grow Falls in sleepy streams
Brown Lollard treads upon the lawn And to the armchair goes There the old man's dreams are gone He smoothes the long, brown nose
And now moves many a pleasant tongue Upon his wasted hands Leading aged hounds and young The huntsman near him stands
The servants round his cushioned place Are with new sorrow wrung The hounds are gazing on his face The aged hounds and young
The fire is in the old man's eyes His fingers move and sway When the wandering music dies They hear him feebly say:
"Oh huntsman Rody, blow the horn Make the hills reply I cannot blow upon my horn I can but weep and sigh."
One blind hound lies apart On the sun-smitten grass He holds commune with his heart The moments pass and pass
The blind hound with a mournful wail He lifts his wintry head The servants bear the body in The hounds wail for the dead
Huntsman Rody, blow the horn Make the hills reply Huntsman Rody, blow the horn Make the hills reply The huntsman loosens on the morn A gay and mournful cryTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
