The Hunter's Death

Ye hunters brave and bold I pray attend
To this relation hear what I have seen
'Twas of a hunter bold
'Twill make your blood run cold
To hear the story told
How he suffered there.

To hunt when he was young was his delight
And when to manhood grown his favorite
To hunt the fallow deer
The roe buck and the bear
The turkey, coon and hare
With smaller game.

As people settled round on hill and dale
No ven’son to be found his hunting failed
He went in forty-nine
Towards the northern line
It was his whole design
To hunt the grove.

And now comes on the day that was his last
Old Boris [Boreas?] blew away an awful blast
It both rain, hail and snow
The stormy winds did blow
They chilled his nature so
Poor man was lost.

All in the drifting snow laid himself down
No further could he go there he was found
His powder so complete
Was strewed from head to feet
That the vermin might not eat
His body there.

You’d wish to know his name and where he’s from
And of what stock he came and where he’s born
He’s of as noble a race
As any in the place
His name twas John Lomace
Born in Westfield.