Down from his hill on high

O'er the winds and the steps and the cobbles

He rode to a woman side

For she was his secret treasure

She was his shame and his bliss

And a chain and a keep are nothing

Compared to a woman's kiss

For hands of gold are always cold But a woman's hands are warm

And there he stood with sword in hand

The last of Darry's ten

And red the grass beneath his feet

And red his banners bright

And red the glow of the setting sun

That bathe him in its light

Come one, come on the great lord called

My sword is hungry still

And with a cry of savage rage They swarmed across the rill

He rode through the streets of the city

Down from this hill on high

O'er the winds and the steps and the cobbles

He rode to a woman side

For she was his secret treasure

She was his shame and his bliss

For a chain and a keep are nothing

Compared to a woman's kiss

For hands of gold are always cold But a woman's hands are warm

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