“My love to fight the Saxon goes,

And bravely shines his sword of steel;

A heron’s feather decks his brows,

And a spur on either heel;

His steed is blacker than a sloe,

And fleeter than the falling star;

Amid the surging ranks he’ll go

And shout for joy of war.

“Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle,

Let the white wool drift and dwindle;