Hark, I hear the foe advancing
Barbed steeds are proudly prancing
Helmets in the sunbeams glancing
Glitter through the trees.
Men of Calon, lie ye dreaming?
See ye not their falchions* gleaming
While their pennons gaily streaming
Flutter in the breeze?
From the rocks resounding
Let the war cry sounding
Summon all at Kingdom's call
The haughty foe surrounding.
Men of Calon on to glory.
See your banner famed in story
Waves these burning words before ye.
"Middle scorns to yield."
Mid the fray see dead and dying
Friend and foe together lying
All around the arrows flying
Scatter sudden death.
Frightened steeds are wildly neighing
Brazen trumpets loudly braying
Wounded men for mercy praying
With their parting breath.
See, they're in disorder
Comrades keep close order
Ever they shall rue the day
They ventured over the border.
Now the Saxon flees before us,
Vic'try's banner floateth o'er us
Raise th eloud exulting chorus,
"Calon wins the field!"
(*swords)