  Through the silent glades of the forest there springs An eager horseman proudly; He blows his horn, he laughs, and he sings Exultingly and loudly. His armour is made of the brass most strong, But stronger still is his bosom; ’Tis Coeur de Lion that’s riding along, That Christian chivalry’s blossom. “Thou’rt welcome to England!” each verdant bough “Exclaims with joyous assurance; “We’re heartily glad, O monarch, that thou “Hast escap’d from thine Austrian durance.” The king snuffs up the free air the while, Like a newborn creature lives he; He thinks of his Austrian dungeon vile,— And his spurs to his proud horse gives he. |
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