"To horse! to horse!" Lord Percy cried, 
  "And quick brace on your armour gleaming, 
My merry men; on yon hill side 
  I see the Douglas' banner streaming;
And many a Scottish wife shall mourn 
Her husband's fate at Otterbourne."

Then loud o'er hill and glen remote 
  The brazen trumpet's clang resounded;
And as he caught the well-known note 
  Each trembling war-horse proudly bounded:
For well he knew no hunter's horn 
  Waken'd thy echoes, Otterbourne.

And now the charging squadrons meet,
  Their falchions in the moonbeams glancing;
And swiftly flew the arrowy sleet,
  Midst plumes and pennons gaily dancing:
And many a knight, with corslet torn,
Bow'd his proud crest at Otterbourne. 

'Tis o'er! -- the chief who oft has led 
  The battle-tide lies in his glory: 
The lowly mound that marks his bed 
  Too plainly tells the fatal story.
The house of Douglas long shall mourn 
The bloody field of Otterbourne.