 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
THE MEETING OF FOES AND THE MEETING OF FRIENDS.
Fill the cup! fill it high! Let us drink to the might
Of the manhood that joyously rushes to fight,
And, true to the death, all unflinching will stand,
For our home, and our hearth, and our own native land!
'Tis the bright sun of June, that is gilding the crest
Of the warriors that fight for their isles of the West;
The breeze that at morning but plays with the plume,
At evening may wave the red grass o'er the tomb;
The corn that has ripen'd in summer's soft breath,
In an hour may be reap'd in the harvest of death:
Then drink to their glory—the glory of those
Who triumph'd or fell in the meeting of foes.
Of the manhood that joyously rushes to fight,
And, true to the death, all unflinching will stand,
For our home, and our hearth, and our own native land!
'Tis the bright sun of June, that is gilding the crest
Of the warriors that fight for their isles of the West;
The breeze that at morning but plays with the plume,
At evening may wave the red grass o'er the tomb;
The corn that has ripen'd in summer's soft breath,
In an hour may be reap'd in the harvest of death:
Then drink to their glory—the glory of those
Who triumph'd or fell in the meeting of foes.
But fill the cup higher to drink to the friends
Bound fast in affection that life only ends;
Whose hearths, when defended from foes that have dared,
Are prized all the more when with friends they are shared!
Far better the wine-cup with ruby may flow
To the health of a friend than the fall of a foe;
Tho' bright are the laurels that glory may twine,
Far softer the shade of the ivy and vine;
Then fill the cup higher! The battle is won—
Our perils are over—our feast has begun!—
On the meeting of foemen, pale sorrow attends—
Rosy joy crowns our meeting—the meeting of friends.
Bound fast in affection that life only ends;
Whose hearths, when defended from foes that have dared,
Are prized all the more when with friends they are shared!
Far better the wine-cup with ruby may flow
To the health of a friend than the fall of a foe;
116
Far softer the shade of the ivy and vine;
Then fill the cup higher! The battle is won—
Our perils are over—our feast has begun!—
On the meeting of foemen, pale sorrow attends—
Rosy joy crowns our meeting—the meeting of friends.
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |