For forty long years have we known him
A Cumberland yeoman of old
And thrice forty years shall have perished
Ere the fame of his deeds shall grow cold
No broadcloth of scarlet adorned him
No buckskin that rival the snow
But a plain Skiddaw gray was his garment
And he wore it for work, not for show

Oh, the horn of the hunter is now silent
On the banks of the Ellen no more
Nor in Denton you'll hear its wild echo
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldews roar.

When darkness at night draws her mantle 
And the cold round the fire bids us steal
Our children will say, "Father tell us
Some tales of the famous John Peel."
And we'll tell them of Ranter and Royal
Of Britain and Melody too
How they put up a fox at Keswick
And chased him from scent to full view

Oh, the horn of the hunter is now silent
On the banks of the Ellen no more
Nor in Denton you'll hear its wild echo
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldews roar

From Denton to Brighton to Skiddaw
Through Isel, Bewaldeth, Whitefield
We galloped like madmen together
To follow the hounds of John Peel
So long we may hunt with each other
'Til the hand of old age you can feel
And then for your  sportsmen  and brothers
So remember the hounds of John Peel

Oh, the horn of the hunter is now silent
On the banks of the Ellen no more
Nor in Denton you'll hear its wild echo
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldews roar