THE HUNTER
143
THE HUNTER
Traditions of a hunter tells—
A hardy man, and stout;
Who ne'er used snow-shoes—for his feet
Were large enough without!
With dog and gun, across-lots, he
Would roam 'mong bush and stump;
Nor swerved he from the snow-drifts deep,-
He'd very seldom slump!
A hardy man, and stout;
Who ne'er used snow-shoes—for his feet
Were large enough without!
With dog and gun, across-lots, he
Would roam 'mong bush and stump;
Nor swerved he from the snow-drifts deep,-
He'd very seldom slump!
But once, 'tis said, he sank far down
While crossing o'er a field;
The damp snow caved upon his feet
And there he stuck—and squealed!
Then, standing like a statue
Beneath the sun 's warm glow—
His feet, like steamship's anchor
Fast pinioned under snow.
While crossing o'er a field;
The damp snow caved upon his feet
And there he stuck—and squealed!
Then, standing like a statue
Beneath the sun 's warm glow—
His feet, like steamship's anchor
Fast pinioned under snow.
He one mighty effort made—
He gave a piercing yell,—
The language wafted far and wide
E'en Echo ne'er would tell!
He gave a piercing yell,—
The language wafted far and wide
E'en Echo ne'er would tell!
