Granemore Hare The Saturday morning, the horns they did blow To the green hills 'round Tassagh the huntsmen do go To meet the bold sportsmen from around Cady town For none loved the sport better than the boys from May Down And when we arrived they were all standing there So we took to the green fields to search for the hare We had not gone far when someone gave a cheer Over high hills and valleys the puss, she did steer With our dogs all abreast and that big mountain hare And the sweet sounding music, it rang through the air Straight for the black bank for to try them once more And it was her last sight 'round the hills of Granemore And as they trailed on to where the puss, she did lay She sprang to her feet for to bid them goodbye Their music, it ceased; and her cry we could hear Saying, Cursed be the ones brought you May Down dogs here Last night as I lay content in the glen It was little I thought about dogs or of men But when going home at the clear light of day I could hear the long dogs at Young Tornerdon bay And it being so early I stopped for a while It was little I thought they were going to meet Coyle If I had known that I'd have lain near the town Or tried to get clear 'round those dogs from May Down And now I am dying, the sport is all done No more through the green fields 'round Cady I run Nor feed in the glen on the cold winter's night Or go home to my den when it's breaking daylight And my curse on MacMahan for bringing Coyle here He's been at his old capers for many's the year From Friday to Sunday, he'll never give o'er With a pack of strange dogs 'round the hills of Granemore From Dick Gaughan's record Kist O' Gold. JN oct96
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!