(Dedicate! to Adam Jackson, "The Hunter King," Lildisdde, Scotland. See X188, Chapter G)

Brave King of the Huntsmen)we'll sing of thy glory,
Old Chief of the border, our praise is thy due.
Thy years may be many, thy locks may be hoary
But young is the heart, that is honest and true.
Of Still cans's thou ride tho the weather's not charming
Tho white are the mountains, and hie thee away
False Reynard soon hears the halloo so alarming,
That rings the death knell while his dawning is grey.
O where is the huntsman in Tyne or in Teviot,
In England or Scotland that's equal to thee?
Thy fame loudly rings from the Solway to Cheviot
Through all the wide borders by moorland and lea.
Thy feats are well known on the wastes of the Humber
Thy shouts have been heard on the banks of the Tweed.
But where is the Fox that can hear them and slumber,
The shouts of the huntsman of Liddisdale Head?
Long life to the rider, and fame be attendant.
The joys of the chase do thou never forget.
Thou prince of good fellows, thou soul independent,
Thou hearty old hero)success to thee yet
Along on thy mountains where blooms the brown heather,
By rock, scaur, or fountain, or dark lonely glen
Mayst thou sally forth all regardless of weather
And capture the fugitive Fox in his den.
And long may the Shepherds who live on the Border
Rejoice when they meet you, when brightens the sky,
To join the halloo and the merry disorder,
While hunting is warm and the hounds are in cry
Come, fill up a bumper, we'll pledge thee in glory,
Tho links of green Liddle in echo shall ring,
Thy years may be many, thy locks may be hoary
Of young is thy heart yet)our brave Hunter King.