Calm on his charger black and tall,
He gallops in disguise:
The sun on the forest slope is all
Green England to his eyes.

The ferny forest breeze of eve
Salutes him keenly dear:
And thro' his curls its fingers weave,
And a song sings in his ear.

Hail, Richard, hail! and the surging tone
Of welcome seems to swell.
The people's heart within his own
Is beating like a bell.

O vassal Austria! this one thing
Too late thou'lt understand:
Whatever his luck, a loyal king
Will find a loyal land.

O Traitor Austria! this we know
And thou hast taught it well:
'Tis better to trust in a Paynim foe
Than such a Christian fell.