The brave big hills of Exmoor, ’tis there I love to be, upon the rolling moorlands high above the Severn Sea, where hidden in the wooded coombe the murm’ring Horner winds, And where beneath the hunter’s moon the red stag guards his hinds.  Across the wind-swept barrows the blackcock wings his way, and far above in circling flight the buzzard marks his prey; Amongst the firs of Lilliecombe the hounds are running fast, the red fox slinks into the gorse until the hunt is past……………extract from a poem by Sir Francis C. Gould 1911


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