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When Horace was quite well again
They set out on their way.
One day they heard a distant strain
And, tramping o'er the dusty plain
With music loud and gay,
A brawny-chested regiment
Marched past, on death or glory bent.
The sight so fired brave Edward's soul,
He set off in the rear.
Said he, "The cavalry's our goal,
—A charger is your proper role;"
But Horace shook with fear.
"If we," he thought, "the foe should seek,
I shall be mutton in a week!"
