Every man who can blow a horn is not a huntsman.
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The Ballad Of The Foxhunter
'Lay me in a cushioned chair;
Carry me, ye four,
With cushions here and cushions there,
To see the world once more.
'To stable and to kennel go;
Bring what is there to bring;
Lead my Lollard to and fro,
Or gently in a ring.
'Put the chair upon the grass:
Bring Rody and his hounds,
That I may contented pass
From these earthly bounds.'
His eyelids droop, his head falls low,
His old eyes cloud with dreams;
The sun upon all things that grow
Falls in sleepy streams.
Brown Lollard treads upon the lawn,
And to the armchair goes,
And now the old man's dreams are gone,
He smooths the long brown nose.
And now moves many a pleasant tongue
Upon his wasted hands,
For leading aged hounds and young
The huntsman near him stands.
'Huntsmam Rody, blow the horn,
Make the hills reply.'
The huntsman loosens on the morn
A gay wandering cry.
Fire is in the old man's eyes,
His fingers move and sway,
And when the wandering music dies
They hear him feebly say,
'Huntsman Rody, blow the horn,
Make the hills reply.'
'I cannot blow upon my horn,
I can but weep and sigh.'
Servants round his cushioned place
Are with new sorrow wrung;
Hounds are gazing on his face,
Aged hounds and young.
One blind hound only lies apart
On the sun-smitten grass;
He holds deep commune with his heart:
The moments pass and pass:
The blind hound with a mournful din
Lifts slow his wintry head;
The servants bear the body in;
The hounds wail for the dead.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hope The Hornblower
'Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
Sluggards, awake, and front the morn!
Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
The sun's on meadow and mill.
Follow me, hearts that love the chase;
Follow me, feet that keep the pace:
Stirrup to stirrup we ride, we ride,
We ride by moor and hill.'
Huntsman, huntsman, whither away?
What is the quarry afoot to-day?
Huntsman, huntsman, whither away,
And what the game ye kill?
Is it the deer, that men may dine?
Is it the wolf that tears the kine?
What is the race ye ride, ye ride,
Ye ride by moor and hill?
'Ask not yet till the day be dead
What is the game that's forward fled,
Ask not yet till the day be dead
The game we follow still.
An echo it may be, floating past;
A shadow it may be, fading fast:
Shadow or echo, we ride, we ride,
We ride by moor and hill'
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Finest Worksong
The time to rise has been engaged
Youre better best to rearrange
Im talking here to me alone
I listen to the finest worksong
Your finest hour
Another chance has been engaged
To throw thoreau and rearrange
You are following this time
I beg you not beg to rhyme (blow your horn)
Your finest hour (blow your horn)
Take your instinct by the reins
Your better best to rearrange
What we want and what we need
Has been confused been confused (blow your horn)
Your finest hour (blow your horn)
(repeat 3rd verse)
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Solitary Huntsman
The solitary huntsman
No coat of pink doth wear,
But midnight black from cap to spur
Upon his midnight mare.
He drones a tuneless jingle
In lieu of tally-ho:
“I’ll catch a fox
And put him in a box
And never let him go.”
The solitary huntsman,
He follows silent hounds.
No horn proclaims his joyless sport,
And never a hoofbeat sounds.
His hundred hounds, his thousands,
Their master’s will they know:
To catch a fox
And put him in a box
And never let him go.
For all the fox’s doubling
They track him to his den.
The chase may fill a morning,
Or threescore years and ten.
The huntsman never sated
Screaks to his saddlebow,
“I’ll catch another fox
And put him in a box
And never let him go.”
poem by Ogden Nash
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Uhland's White Stag
Into the woods three huntsmen came,
Seeking the white stag for their game.
They laid them under a green fir-tree
And slept, and dreamed strange things to see.
(FIRST HUNTSMAN)
I dreamt I was beating the leafy brush,
When out popped the noble stag--hush, hush!
(SECOND HUNTSMAN)
As ahead of the clamorous pack he sprang,
I pelted him hard in the hide--piff, bang!
(THIRD HUNTSMAN)
And as that stag lay dead I blew
On my horn a lusty tir-ril-la-loo!
So speak the three as there they lay
When lo! the white stag sped that way,
Frisked his heels at those huntsmen three,
Then leagues o'er hill and dale was he--
Hush, hush! Piff, bang! Tir-ril-la-loo!
poem by Eugene Field
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Hernani
Cistercians might crack their sides
With laughter, and exemption get,
At sight of heroes clasping brides,
And hearing--O the horn! the horn!
The horn of their obstructive debt!
But quit the stage, that note applies
For sermons cosmopolitan,
Hernani. Have we filched our prize,
Forgetting . . .? O the horn! the horn!
The horn of the Old Gentleman!
poem by George Meredith
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Ive Been Working On The Railroad
This song was first released on the all aboard! album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Ive been working on the railroad
All the live long day
Ive been working on the railroad
Just to pass the time away
Cant you hear the whistle blowing
Rise up so early in the morn
Cant you hear the whistle blowing
Dinah, blow your horn
Dinah wont you blow
Dinah wont you blow
Dinah, wont you blow your horn
Dinah, wont you blow,
Dinah, wont you blow,
Dinah, wont you blow your horn
Someones in the kitchen with dinah
Someones in the kitchen I know
Someones in the kitchen with dinah
Strumming on the old banjo
Fee fie fiddle eell o
Fee fie fiddle eell o
Fee fie fiddle eell o
Strumming on the old banjo
Traditional
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Complicated
So complicated, so complicated
Just wanna blow my horn
So complicated, so complicated
Just wanna know the score
Are you telling me that everythings fine
When I cant even tie my shoes
Better get into a new frame of mind
When I dont have to think about the business no more
'cause I just wanna blow my horn
The telephone is ringing out
But it dont understand my blues
And how much longer will it take
Until they get the news
The weather man said it was good
He forecast it was truly great
So if you change your train of thought
You know it wont be late
Too complicated, too complicated
You know this crazy scene
Too complicated, too complicated
No one says what they mean
Are you telling me that everythings fine
When I cant even tie my shoes
Better get into a new frame of mind
When I dont have to think about the business no more
'cause I just wanna blow my horn.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Action Man In Motown Suit
Let's stay a while and watch him
He's moving into action man
He's looking good but maybe
He's in the wrong direction man
But he wanna get a little, get a little
Every night, get a little, get a little
Something for his appetite
Everybody needs to have a recreation
Everybody needs a little comfort for the soul
You'll never make it in a motown suit
No way to fake it man they're not your roots
No, you'll never make it in a motown suit
You can't be a drummer without rhythm
Can't blow your horn if you ain't blue
Some folks they just ain't got it in 'em
Tell me boy now does that sound like you
He's cruising with the singles
Down the margarita bar
He's boring to distraction
Pushing words and talking stars
(What's your sign)
He's gotta take a little, take a little
On the side, make a little, make a little
Something for his appetite
Everybody needs a little lubrication
Someone with imagination got to break the ice
You'll never make it in a motown suit
No way to fake it man they're not your roots
No, you'll never make it in a motown suit
You can't be a lover without rhythm
Don't blow your horn if you ain't true
No point in playing Valentino
He's a sham and brother so are you
You can't be a drummer without rhythm
Can't blow your horn if you ain't blue
Some folks they just ain't got it in 'em
Tell me boy now does that sound like you
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hounds going home in the Dark
Rustle of feet in the roadside grass,
Trample of horses' hoofs, and - Hark!
Blast of an anxious horn! Hounds pass;
Hounds going home in the dark.
Bold was our huntsman galloping free
On a difficult line to the hills to-day,
But his hand is trembling against his knee
At the hint of a light on the King's Highway.
‘ Car!' And the gold spreads over the sky ;
‘ Keep to the front there! Stop them, Mark!
' Toot-toot-too-oot ! - ' Halloo, there !-Hi ! ‘-
Hounds going home in the dark.
Crack of a whip as the headlights near-
Blind in the blaze they group and grope.
‘ Curse the feller, and can't he hear?
Put 'em across, there I-Cope, boys, cope! '
When never a star is hung in the sky,
With never a lamp or a lantern spark,
Huntsman and Whips go groping by,
Blowing them home in the dark.
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Blow Me A Kiss
Take one in the leg [Think about your baby]
Take one in the side [Think about your girl]
Take one in the head [Think about your mother]
Take one in the heart [It's the end of the world]
So blow me a kiss cuz I'm black
Blow me a kiss cuz I'm gay
Blow me a kiss cuz I'm shakin'
Say goodnight then blow me away
Blow me away
Blow me away
Tell me what you're thinkin' tell me why
Blow me a kiss then blow me away
Take one in the face [Think about your life]
Take one in the eye [Think about your soul]
Take one in the mouth [Think about your savior]
Take one in the thigh [Are you ready to go]
So blow me a kiss cuz I'm lonely
Blow me a kiss cuz I'm afraid
Blow me a kiss cuz you don't know me
Say goodnight then blow me away
Blow me away
Blow me away
Tell me what you're thinkin' tell me why
I'm in my room I'm Dr. Doom
Cuz I'm not me I'm someone else
Why should you die don't ask me why
You know it you know it you know it
Blow me away
I turn the page I am the rage
I'm coming from a darker place
A much darker place
So blow me away
Blow me away
Yeah blow me away
Tell me what you're thinkin' tell me why
Blow me a kiss then blow me away
Yeah blow me away
C'mon and blow me away
Tell me what you're thinkin' tell me why
Blow me a kiss then blow me away
song performed by by Alice Cooper from Brutal Planet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blow By Blow
Written by dave mason, john cesario, and mark holden.
Its always something
Or it aint nothing at all
Its feast or famine
Too hot or out in the cold
So here we stand
Alone together
Our backs against the wall
If my heart wasnt in it
I wouldnt be here at all
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
And here we go again
(here we go again)
Well its blow by blow
Coming off the ropes
And fighting for the hope in us all
Are you in my corner
Or playing both sides of the wall
So make a stand
Its now or never
Cause life is much too short
And if your heart isnt in it
You shouldnt be here at all
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
And here we go again
(here we go again)
Well its blow by blow
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
Im back on my feet again
(Im back on my feet again)
Well its blow by blow
I can almost see through the tears
And Ive got my pride
The dreams that Ive hidden for years
Just wont be denied
So here we stand
Alone together
Our backs against the wall
If my heart wasnt in it
I wouldnt be here at all
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
And here we go again
(here we go again)
Well its blow by blow
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
Im back on my feet again
(Im back on my feet again)
Well its blow by blow
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A ho! A ho! (song )
Act II Scene ii, lines 26-55
A ho! A ho!
Love's horn doth blow,
And he will out a-hawking go.
His shafts are light as beauty's sighs,
And bright as midnight's brightest eyes,
And round his starry way
The swan-winged horses of the skies,
With summer's music in their manes,
Curve their fair necks to zephyr's reins,
And urge their graceful play.
A ho! A ho!
Love's horn doth blow,
And he will out a-hawking go.
The sparrows flutter round his wrist.
The feathery thieves that Venus kissed
And taught their morning song,
The linnets seek the airy list,
And swallows too, small pets of Spring,
Beat back the gale with swifter wing,
And dart and wheel along.
A ho! A ho!
Love's horn doth blow,
And he will out a-hawking go.
Now woe to every gnat that skips
To filch the fruit of ladies' lips,
His felon blood is shed;
And woe to flies, whose airy ships
On beauty cast their anchoring bite,
And bandit wasp, that naughty wight,
Whose sting is slaughter-red.
poem by Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Action Man In A Motown Suit
Lets stay a while and watch him
Hes moving into action man
Hes looking good but maybe
Hes in the wrong direction man
But he wanna get a little, get a little
Every night, get a little, get a little
Something for his appetite
Everybody needs to have a recreation
Everybody needs a little comfort for the soul
Youll never make it in a motown suit
No way to fake it man theyre not your roots
No, youll never make it in a motown suit
You cant be a drummer without rhythm
Cant blow your horn if you aint blue
Some folks they just aint got it in 'em
Tell me boy now does that sound like you
Hes cruising with the singles
Down the margarita bar
Hes boring to distraction
Pushing words and talking stars
(whats your sign)
Hes gotta take a little, take a little
On the side, make a little, make a little
Something for his appetite
Everybody needs a little lubrication
Someone with imagination got to break the ice
Youll never make it in a motown suit
No way to fake it man theyre not your roots
No, youll never make it in a motown suit
You cant be a lover without rhythm
Dont blow your horn if you aint true
No point in playing valentino
Hes a sham and brother so are you
You cant be a drummer without rhythm
Cant blow your horn if you aint blue
Some folks they just aint got it in 'em
Tell me boy now does that sound like you
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song Of The Negro Boatmen
O, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An' massa tink it day ob doom,
An' we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves
He jus' as 'trong as den;
He say de word: we las' night slaves;
To-day, de Lord's freemen.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn:
O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
Ole massa on he trabbels gone;
He leaf de land behind;
De Lord's breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plough,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But nebber chile be sold.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn:
O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
We pray de Lord: he gib us signs
Dat some day we be free;
De norf-wind tell it to de pines,
De wild-duck to de sea;
We tink it when de church-bell ring,
We dream it in de dream;
De rice-bird mean it when he sing,
De eagle when he scream.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn:
O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
We know de promise nebber fail,
An' nebber lie de word;
So like de 'postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord:
An' now he open ebery door
An' trow away de key;
He tink we lub him so before,
We lub him better free.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
He'll gib de rice an' corn:
O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
So sing our dusky gondoliers;
And with a secret pain,
And smiles that seem akin to tears,
We hear the wild refrain.
We dare not share the negro's trust,
Nor yet his hope deny;
We only know that God is just,
And every wrong shall die.
Rude seems the song; each swarthy face
Flame-lighted, ruder still:
We start to think that hapless race
Must shape our good or ill;
That laws of changeless justice bind
Oppressor with oppressed;
And, close as sin and suffering joined,
We march to Fate abreast.
Sing on, poor hearts! your chant shall be
Our sign of blight or bloom,—
The Vala-song of Liberty,
Or death-rune of our doom!
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song Of The Negro Boatman
Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An' massa tink it day ob doom,
An' we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves
He jus' as 'trong as den;
He say de word: we las' night slaves;
To-day, de Lord's freemen.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn;
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
Ole massa on he trabbels gone;
He leaf de land behind:
De Lord's breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plough,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But nebber chile be sold.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn;
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
We pray de Lord: he gib us signs
Dat some clay we be free;
De norf-wind tell it to de pines,
De wild-duck to de sea;
We tink it when de church-bell ring,
We dream it in de dream;
De rice-bird mean it when he sing,
De eagle when he scream.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn:
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
We know de promise nebber fail,
An' nebber lie de word;
So like de 'postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord
An' now he open ebery door,
An' trow away de key;
He tink we lub him so before,
We lub him better free.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
He'll gib de rice an' corn;
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
So sing our dusky gondoliers;
And with a secret pain,
And smiles that seem akin to tears,
We hear the wild refrain.
We dare not share the negro's trust,
Nor yet his hope deny;
We only know that God is just,
And every wrong shall die.
Rude seems the song; each swarthy face,
Flame-lighted, ruder still:
We start to think that hapless race
Must shape our good or ill;
That laws of changeless justice bind
Oppressor with oppressed;
And, close as sin and suffering joined,
We march to Fate abreast.
Sing on, poor hearts! your chant shall be
Our sign of blight or bloom,
The Vala-song of Liberty,
Or death-rune of our doom!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Get someone else to blow your horn and the sound will carry twice as far.
quote by Will Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When two enemies blow one horn, the third will have to suffer for it.