Through the silent glades of the forest there springs
An eager horseman proudly;
He blows his horn, he laughs, and he sings
Exultingly and loudly.
His armour is made of the brass most strong,
But stronger still is his bosom;
’Tis Cœur de Lion that’s riding along,
That Christian chivalry’s blossom.
“Thou’rt welcome to England!” each verdant bough
“Exclaims with joyous assurance;
“We’re heartily glad, O monarch, that thou
“Hast escap’d from thine Austrian durance.”
The king snuffs up the free air the while,
Like a newborn creature lives he;
He thinks of his Austrian dungeon vile,—
And his spurs to his proud horse gives he.