The cool of the rushing mountain stream
Splashed in the face of the wounded stag
As he sank to his knees in the shadow cast
By the lonely mountain crag.
Far in the West the sun sank red
Rainbows gleamed in the whispering spray
The wind stirred the grass in the broken rocks
As the swift stag, dying lay.
High in the rocks of the mountain side
The watchful eagle screamed forlorn
And the harrier wheeled from the stony ground
At the sound of the hunter’s horn.
And sadness came to the joyful glen
Where leaves had soaked in the summer rain
As withered and curled they fell at eve
While the stream sang a sad refrain.
Hills quenched the fire in the burning west
Pebbles crunched at the hunter’s tread
A pale moon broke thro’ jostling clouds
The stag in his blood lay dead.