I
His golden arrow is tipped with hawk's feathers,
His embroidered silk flag has a tail like a swallow.
One man, arising, gives a new order
To the answering shout of a thousand tents.
II
The woods are black and a wind assails the grasses,
Yet the general tries night archery—
And next morning he finds his white-plumed arrow
Pointed deep in the hard rock.
III
High in the faint moonlight, wildgeese are soaring.
Tartar chieftains are fleeing through the dark—
And we chase them, with horses lightly burdened
And a burden of snow on our bows and our swords.
IV
Let feasting begin in the wild camp!
Let bugles cry our victory!
Let us drink, let us dance in our golden armour!
Let us thunder on rivers and hills with our drums!