Our band is few, but tried and true,
Our leader frank and bold:
The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.
We have no fort but dark green woods,
Our tent's a shady tree:
We know the forest round us
As sailors know the sea.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the tree top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of rustling leaves.
Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads,--
The glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to ride the fiery horse
Across the moonlight plain;
'Tis life to feel the night wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp--
A moment--and away
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.