Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp to battle din!
Tramp son, tramp sire, tramp kith and kin!
Tramp one, tramp all, have hearts within.
The chieftain’s son his sire addrest,
As morn awoke the world from rest:
“Lo! warriors on yon mountain crest—
“Lo! warriors armed, their course that hold
On grey war-horses riding bold,
With nostrils snorting wide for cold!
“Rank closing up on rank I see,
Six by six, and three by three,
Spear-points by thousands glinting free.
“Now rank on rank, twos front they go,
Behind a flag which to and fro
Sways, as the winds of death do blow!
“Nine sling-casts’ length from van to rear—
I know ’tis Arthur's hosts appear;—
There Arthur strides—that foremost peer!”
“If it be Arthur—Ho! what, ho!
Up spear! out arrow! Bend the bow!
Forth, after Arthur, on the foe!”
The chieftain’s words were hardly spoke,
When forth the cry of battle broke—
From end to end the hills it woke:
“Be’t head for hand, and heart for eye,
Death-wound for scratch—a-low, on high,—
Matron for maid, and man for boy!
“Stone-horse for mare, for heifers steers,
War-chief for warrior, youth for years,
And fire for sweat, and blood for tears.
“And three for one—by strath and scaur,
By day, by night, till near and far
The streams run red with waves of war!
“If in the fight we fall, so best!
Bathed in our blood—a baptism blest—
With joyous hearts we’ll take our rest.
“If we but fall where we have fought,
As Christian men and Bretons ought,
Such death is ne’er too early sought.”