Pen and Sward.

Chorus.

Air: "Huntsmen's Chorus," from "Der Freischutz," (Weber.)

When air's like wine in sunny weather,
And the breeze blows cobwebs from the brains;
When Latin's folly and Law's a tether,
And the blood goes dancing through the veins,—
Then hey ! for where your fancy races
Away from city's stifling grip
To the playing fields and open places—
And let the world of toilers slip !
Then here's to the long white road that beckons,
The climb that baffles, the risk that nerves;
And here's to the merry heart that reckons
The rough with the smooth and never swerves !
Be it hockey stick, or oval leather,
Skiff, racquet, rod or gun,—
Here's luck! for the sport we've had together,
For chances lost and battles won;
For the wicket true, and the field in fettle,
And the man who's safe for a hottish catch;
For the losing team that shows its mettle,
And the man who wins his heat from scratch.
Then here's to the sportsman's road that beckons,
The climb that baffles, the risk that nerves;
And here's to the merry heart that reckons
The rough with the smooth, and never swerves !