Our band is few, but true and tried,
…Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
…When Marion’s name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
…Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,
…As seamen know the sea;
We know its walks of thorny vines,
…Its glades of reedy grass,
Its safe and silent islands
…Within the dark morass.
Woe to the English soldiery
…That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
…A strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire,
…They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
…Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem
…A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands
…Upon the hollow wind.
Then sweet the hour that brings release
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