The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker Edited from the original manuscripts and annotated copies together with a prefatory notice and bibliography by Alfred Wallis |
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THE COSSACK'S ADIEU. |
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 | The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker |  |
THE COSSACK'S ADIEU.
Pride of my spirit! farewell to thy beauty,
The war-trump hath blown, and thy Cossack must go:
Though affection would silence the summons of duty,
What warrior would hear not the call of the foe?
The war-trump hath blown, and thy Cossack must go:
Though affection would silence the summons of duty,
What warrior would hear not the call of the foe?
I leave thee, my love, for the bosom of danger,
And dear thy fair image in death as in life;
But it shall not be said in the land of the stranger
That the race of the Danube were last in the strife.
And dear thy fair image in death as in life;
But it shall not be said in the land of the stranger
That the race of the Danube were last in the strife.
Nay, weep not, thou dear one, nor banish in sorrow
The hope that should whisper of victory now;
For the gloom of to-day may be brighten'd to-morrow,
And who should rejoice in my laurels but thou?
The hope that should whisper of victory now;
For the gloom of to-day may be brighten'd to-morrow,
And who should rejoice in my laurels but thou?
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Bound on, my brave steed, and be proud in thy glory,
For thy hoofs shall be red with the blood of the slain.
Should the deeds of thy master be cherish'd in story,
Thou wilt not have braved the wild battle in vain.
For thy hoofs shall be red with the blood of the slain.
Should the deeds of thy master be cherish'd in story,
Thou wilt not have braved the wild battle in vain.
I may not return to my father's dear dwelling,
But breathe forth my soul on the steel of the foe,
But when sorrow is there, and her tear-drop is swelling,
Remember my spirit shrank not from the blow.
But breathe forth my soul on the steel of the foe,
But when sorrow is there, and her tear-drop is swelling,
Remember my spirit shrank not from the blow.
Farewell, love. In vain for thy Cossack thou weepest,
His heart will adore thee as ever it hath.
Plunge on, my proud barb! where the death-groans are deepest,
And woe to the arm that is raised in thy path!
His heart will adore thee as ever it hath.
Plunge on, my proud barb! where the death-groans are deepest,
And woe to the arm that is raised in thy path!
| The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker | |