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OUR band is few but true and tried
Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress1 is the good greenwood Our tent the cypress-tree; We know the forest round us We know its walls of thorny3 vines Its safe and silent islands On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear: When waking to their tents on fire They grasp their arms in vain And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again; And they who fly in terror deem And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release We talk the battle over And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout As if a hunt were up And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine-top grieves And slumber10 long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves. Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads— The glitter of their rifles The scampering11 of their steeds. 'T is life to guide the fiery12 barb13 Across the moonlit plain; 'T is life to feel the night-wind That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp— A moment—and away Back to the pathless forest Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee Their hearts are all with Marion For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band With kindliest welcoming With smiles like those of summer And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton Forever from our shore. 点击收听单词发音
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