Song ("We know where deepest lies the snow")

We know where deepest lies the snow,
And where the frost-winds keenest blow
On every mountain brow.
We long have known and learnt to bear
The wandering outlaw's toil and care,
But where we late were hunted, there
Our foes are hunted now.

We have their princely homes, and they
To our wild haunts are chased away,
Dark woods, and desert caves;
And we can range from hill to hill,
And chase our vanquished victors still,
Small respite will they find, until
They slumber in their graves.

But I would rather be the hare
That, crouching in its sheltered lair,
Must start at every sound;
That, forced from cornfields waving wide,
Is driven to seek the bare hillside,
Or in the tangled copse-wood hide,
Than be the hunter's hound!