by Henry Newbolt, Sir (1862 - 1938)
Hope the Hornblower
Language: English
"Hark ye, hark to the winding horn; Sluggards awake, and front the morn! Hark ye, hark to the winding horn; The sun's on meadow and mill, Follow me. hearts that love the chase; Follow me, feet that keep the pace: Stirrup to stirrup we ride, we ride, We ride by moor and hill." Huntsman, huntsman, whither away? What is the quarry afoot today? Huntsman, huntsman, whither away, And what the game ye kill? Is it the deer, that men may dine? Is it the wolf that tears the kine? What is the race ye ride, ye ride, Ye ride by moor and hill? "Ask not yet till the day be dead What is the game that's forward fled, Ask not yet till the day be dead The game we follow still. An echo it may be, floating past; A shadow it may be, fading fast: Shadow or echo, we ride, we ride We ride by moor and hill."
Text Authorship:
- by Henry Newbolt, Sir (1862 - 1938), "Hope the Hornblower", appears in The Sailing of the Long-Ships and Other Poems, first published 1902 [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by John (Nicholson) Ireland (1879 - 1962), "Hope the Hornblower", 1911, published 1912. [voice and piano] [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 24
Word count: 158