作词 : Traditional 作曲 : Traditional Traditional One fine winter's morn my horn I did blow To the green fields of Keady for hours we did go We covered our dogs and we searched all the way For none loves this sport better than the boys in the Dale. And when we are rising we're all standing there We sit up by the fields, boys, in search of the hare We didn't get far till someone gave the cheer Over high hills and valleys this sweet puss did steer As we flew o'er the hills, 'twas a beautiful sight There was dogs black and yellow, there was dogs black and bright Now she took to the black bank for to try them once more Oh it was her last ride o'er the hills of Greenmore In the field fleet stubble this ***** die lie And in growing chary they did pass her by And there well we stood at the top of the brae We heard the last words that this sweet puss did say: "No more o'er the green fields of Keady I'll roam In touch of the fields, boys, in sporting and fun Or hear the long horn that your toner does play I'll go home to my den by the clear light of day" You may blame our right man for killing the hare For he said his o.k. first this many a year On saturday and sunday he never gives o'er With a pack of strange dogs round the hills of Greenmore.
作词 : Traditional 作曲 : Traditional Traditional One fine winter's morn my horn I did blow To the green fields of Keady for hours we did go We covered our dogs and we searched all the way For none loves this sport better than the boys in the Dale. And when we are rising we're all standing there We sit up by the fields, boys, in search of the hare We didn't get far till someone gave the cheer Over high hills and valleys this sweet puss did steer As we flew o'er the hills, 'twas a beautiful sight There was dogs black and yellow, there was dogs black and bright Now she took to the black bank for to try them once more Oh it was her last ride o'er the hills of Greenmore In the field fleet stubble this ***** die lie And in growing chary they did pass her by And there well we stood at the top of the brae We heard the last words that this sweet puss did say: "No more o'er the green fields of Keady I'll roam In touch of the fields, boys, in sporting and fun Or hear the long horn that your toner does play I'll go home to my den by the clear light of day" You may blame our right man for killing the hare For he said his o.k. first this many a year On saturday and sunday he never gives o'er With a pack of strange dogs round the hills of Greenmore.
