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.