The Forest Greeting

Good hunting!--aye, good hunting,     Wherever the forests call;     But ever a heart beats hot with fear,     And what of the birds that fall?     Good hunting!--aye, good hunting,     Wherever the north winds blow;     But what of the stag that calls for his mate?     And what of the wounded doe?     Good hunting!--aye, good hunting;     And ah! we are bold and strong;     But our triumph call through the forest hall     Is a brother's funeral song.     For we are brothers ever,     Panther and bird and bear;     Man and the weakest that fear his face,     Born to the nest or lair.     Yes, brothers, and who shall judge us?     Hunters and game are we;     But who gave the right for me to smite?     Who boasts when he smiteth me?     Good hunting!--aye, good hunting,     And dim is the forest track;     But the sportsman Death comes striding on:     Brothers, the way is black.