And Foresters away "out there,"
Sons of his sons, have surely seen
A figure clad in Lincoln green
Glide by them swiftly, thin as air;
And, yarning in the creepy dark,
Have told of arrows, cloth-yard long,
Whistling before them clean and strong,
Of Huns that got them, pierced and stark;
How when their line is making good,
In charge or trench, as Sherwoods can,