Gordon Bok – The Horn Of The Hunter (Guitar)

C                                  F
For forty long years have we known him,

G                    C
Cumberland yeoman of old,

C                                F
And twice forty years shall have perished,

    G                                C
Ere the fame of his deeds shall grow cold.

C                                F
No broadcloth of scarlet adorned him

   G                        C
No buckskin as white as the snow.

C                             F
Of plain Skiddaw gray was his garment,

    G                            C
And he wore it for work, not for show.

C                             F
Now the horn of the hunter is silent,

   G                         C
On the banks of the Ellen no more,

C                             F
No more will we hear its wild echo,

      G                           C
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldews roar.

C                                 F
When dark draws her mantle around us,

    G                        C
And cold by the fire bids us steal,

C                                   F
Our children will say, "Father tell us

     G                        C
Some tales of the famous John Peel."

C                                 F
And we'll tell them of Ranter and Royal,

   G                  C
Of Britain and Melody too,

C                                F
how they rattled a fox round the Carrock

    G                         C
And drove him from scent into view.

C                             F
Now the horn of the hunter is silent,

   G                         C
On the banks of the Ellen no more,

C                             F
No more will we hear its wild echo,

      G                           C
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldews roar.

C                           F
How often from Brathwait to Skiddaw,

        G                     C
Through Isel, Bewaldeth, Whitefield,

C                         F
We galloped like madmen together,

   G                         C
To follow the hounds of John Peel.

C                           F
And though we may hunt with another,

    G                           C
Til the hand of old age bids us yeild,

C                                   F
We will think on that sportsman and brother,

    G                           C
And remember the hounds of John Peel.

C                             F
Now the horn of the hunter is silent,

   G                         C
On the banks of the Ellen no more,

C                             F
No more will we hear its wild echo,

      G                           C
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldews roar.