'Tis but a week since down the glen
The trampling horses came.
Half a hundred fighting men
With all their spears aflame!

They laughed and clattered as they went,
And round about their way
The blackbirds sang with one consent
In the green leaves of May.

Never again shall I see them pass;
They'll come victorious never.
Their spears are withered all as grass,
Their laughter's laid for ever;

And where they clattered as they went,
And where their hearts were gay,
The blackbirds sing with one consent
In the green leaves of May.