At the edge of the woodland
Where good fairies dwell,
Stands, on the look-out,
A brave sentinel.
At the call of his bugle
Out the elves run,
Ready for anything,
Danger, or fun.
Hunting, or warfare,
By moonshine or sun.
With bluebells and campions
The woodlands are gay,
Where bronzy-leaved Bugle
Keeps watch night and day.