Allan Cunningham, Traditional Tales of the English and Scottish Peasantry (1887)
“ Shakes out its deep sound, and the fair maidens fly Like the sunlight—or birds on the wing; And it's merry at gloaming, aneath the boughs green, To woo a young maiden and roam all unseen. But it's blither by far when the pennon is spread, And the lordly loud trumpet is pealing, When the bright swords are out, and the war-courser neighs, As high as the top of Helvellyn; And away spurs the warrior, and makes the rocks ring With the blows that he strikes for his country and king. Our gallants have sprung to their saddles, and bright Are the swords in a thousand hands ”
