Bow-Meeting Song

Ye spirits of our fathers, The hardy, bold, and free, Who chased o'er Cressy's gory field A fourfold enemy! From us who love your sylvan game, To you the song shall flow, To the fame of your name Who so bravely bent the bow.

'Twas merry then in England (Our ancient records tell), With Robin Hood and Little John Who dwelt by down and dell; And yet we love the bold outlaw Who braved a tyrant foe, Whose cheer was the deer, And his only friend the bow.

'Twas merry then in England In autumn's dewy morn, When echo started from her hill To hear the bugle-horn. And beauty, mirth, and warrior worth In garb of green did go The shade to invade With the arrow and the bow.

Ye spirits of our fathers! Extend to us your care, Among your children yet are found The valiant and the fair, 'Tis merry yet in Old England, Full well her archers know, And shame on their name Who despise the British bow!