Classic Poem

Canter on, canter on, gaily we go!
Let no betrayal our trumpeters blow,
Till we behold on yon summit the foe
Loose not the bugle's wild breath;
Then to its sound we will bound o'er the ground,
Jubilant unto the death.

Tighten your girths as we rise yonder slant,
Slacken your pace, let your weary steeds pant,
Hark! 'tis the enemy's rude battle-chant,—
Grow to your saddles, my men!
We're on the hill—blow your will, bugles shrill!
Now for a crash in the glen!