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.