As afar o’er the meadows, with soldiers’ gear laden,
They merrily marched for their dear native land;
Their banners took sighs from full many a maiden,
And trembled, as love-lorn each waved her white hand.
But see from the troops
Where a warrior swoops,
From the speed of his courser his plume backward droops;
’Tis a bold Scottish Knight,
Whose joy and delight
Is to joust it in sport—or at outrance to fight.