XXV.

'The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,-- Ever sing merrily, merrily; The bows they bend, and the knives they whet, Hunters live so cheerily.

It was a stag, a stag of ten, Bearing its branches sturdily; He came stately down the glen,-- Ever sing hardily, hardily.

'It was there he met with a wounded doe, She was bleeding deathfully; She warned him of the toils below, O. so faithfully, faithfully!

'He had an eye, and he could heed,-- Ever sing warily, warily; He had a foot, and he could speed,-- Hunters watch so narrowly.'