I’ll hasten to give them mine;
I’ll laugh and I’ll sing, though my heart may bleed,
And I’ll walk in the festal train,
And if I survive it I’ll mount my steed,
And I’ll off to the wars again.
And if I survive, &c.
But one golden tress of her hair I’ll twine
In my helmet’s sable plume,
And then on the field of Palestine,
I’ll seek an early doom.