Hob I’ th’ Hurst.

As the Huntress peers from ragged cloud
On a realm that sleeps in midnight’s dream,
Spirits stir from misty shroud
And creep from shadow haunts unseen.

From a hidden cave in Deepest Dale
Hob plays his game of hide and seek
Through tangled brier and mossy vale
To haunt the district of the Peak.

As brown owl hoots upon the tree
Hob goes creeping, tricky fellow he.

Where fox and badger both prowl at night
Passed Reynard’s Cave he makes his way,
Under silver stars that shine so bright
Upon the placid River Dove at play.

Along drovers track and Roman road
Through Doctor’s Gate onto the moor,
Where packhorse toiled with heavy load
From the River Noe to Higger Tor.

As rivers rush towards the sea
Hob goes dancing, merry fellow he.

On the grassy bank of a rushing stream
Where a dipper hides in secret nest,
And speckled trout in moss-weed dream
Hob sits beneath the stars to rest.

On bleakest moor the curlews cry
Like ghostly banshees in the night,
As Dianna rides the clouds on high
Putting the shadow demons to flight.

Orion peeps from the heavens to see
Hob merrily singing, Puckish fellow he.

A bowl full of cream is his reward
Old ‘Hobthrush’ drinks his fill,
The farmer is now good works assured
Instead of tricks and mischief ill.

But as owl floats by on silent wing
And hunting bats over tree-tops fly,
Hob creeps his way passed the magic ring
Of Arbor Low where the great stones lie.

In Peakland hills seven wonders to see
Hob goes striding, mischievous fellow he.

Hob makes his way through Lud’s green church
Down slippery steps both worn and steep,
Where brave Gawain ended his lonely search
His meeting with the Green Knight to keep.

By darkest mere much like starless sky
The mermaid combs her dripping crown,
But wily old Hob goes dancing by
Before she ups and drags him down.

Tall crags rise where clouds should be
Hob goes climbing, cunning fellow he.

Passed ancient cairns where chieftains lay
In hollow hills beneath green mound,
To Stanton Moor he wends his way
Where magic lingers all around.

Here upon to meet nine maidens fair
And dance beneath a Sabbath moon,
In a fairy ring without a care
To a strange and merry old fiddler’s tune.

As nine fair maidens dance with glee
Hob laughs loudly, the strange fellow he.

As Arnementis bathes in the early morn
And Lugh from slumber begins to wake,
The Huntress fades with the light of dawn
As the birds their chorus begin to make.

Among silver birch where shadows play
Creeps morning mist to catch alone,
The dancers fair by light of day
And turn Nine Ladies into stone.

The owl alone looked down to see
Hob running home, the ‘Goodfellow’ he.