Hunting Song
Round us rolls the heather's sheen,
Heather's sheen,
'Neath the falcon of our queen,
Of our queen.
Birch and cherry balm exhale,
Balm exhale,
Loud our horns the cliffs assail,
Cliffs assail.
Light the air and clear the sky,
Clear the sky,-
Hurrah! onward, she is nigh,
She is nigh.
Hunt ye joy with every breath,
Every breath,
Hunt it to the stream of death,
Stream of death!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Added by Poetry Lover
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