Swarthfell Rocks

As sung by The Watersons

It were early one morning when I rose from my bed
I’ve heard, “Hark, hark away my boys!” so clearly,
𝄆 And so I drew me a little nearer for to see who was there
That were going out fox hunting so early. 𝄇

There were nine gentlemen and the Duke of Buckingham,
And they each of them set out upon the trial
𝄆 To see the hounds run in the North, where they have great fame and worth,
And the most of them set out with no denial. 𝄇

It were at Swarthfell Rocks where we laid on our hounds,
Not thinking the tops there being likely.
𝄆 Now an huntsman long I’ve been but the likes I’ve never seen,
We unkenneled bold Reynard so early. 𝄇

Henry Wilkinson cried “Hark, hark away, my boys!”
Joe Clark, our foot sportsman, soon heard him.
𝄆 Richard Moundsey cried, “Oddzounds! you mun’ couple up your hounds,
For this day you never will come near him.” 𝄇

They come through Howtown moor, being late in the hour,
It were sometimes one hound and sometimes t’other.
𝄆 It were hard to be expressed which of them ran him the best
For they each ran abreast close together. 𝄇

There were Tippler and Towler and Fairmaid and Jolly,
There were Countess and Blossom and Fury.
𝄆 There were several other hounds ran close within his bounds,
But these were the hounds that ran near him. 𝄇

They come through Hallin Hag, their course being strong,
I’m sure there was little ease in it.
𝄆 But our hounds they ran him well and they turned him in again
And he took Sharrow Woods for his cover. 𝄇

Then Reynard being weary and seeking for shelter,
His way was to take the straight over.
𝄆 But our hounds they ran amain and they laid him in again
And there they destroyed him for ever. 𝄇

Old Lilter followed him, and never more was seen
Which caused our great sportsmen to murmur.
That a finer little hound never ran above the ground,
He was the bonniest little hound in the number.
Aye a finer little hound never ran above the ground,
He was the bonniest little hound in the number.

So now to conclude, and to finish my song,
This gallant fox hunt it is all over.
𝄆 It’s the forty-second fox that’s been slain on Swarthfell Rocks,
So that puts an end to my story. 𝄇