THE BONNIE PRINCE O’ SPRING

The little green soldiers are here at last,

With their waving blades and spears;

And across the hills they are marching fast

With the drill of a thousand years:

And I wave afar, and I shout, Hurrah!

Till I hear their echoing cheers.

A bonnie prince is at their head,

And his love the legions know:

For he gives them rest where the twigs are red

At the hedges cool in a row:

And afoot are they soon to a birdlike tune

On the northward march to go.

Oh, I am leal to the marching men,

To my bonnie Prince I'm true;

For he tells me the way to his tented glen,

And the secret password too:

And he sets in my hair a blossom to wear,

Like his own good horsemen do.

Then I will follow on all the day

Where the bonnie Prince has led,

Till we drive the Winter foeman away

And throne my Prince instead:

And sing willaloo! With the birds, willaloo!

For the Winter King is dead.