 | Poems |  |
58
SONG.
HE.
Farewell, white cliffs of Dover!
Dear heart, don't weep for me:
The seas must bear thy lover
From country and from thee.
The soldier must not tarry,
When honour points the way;
When danger calls, my deary,
You would not have me stay.
Dear heart, don't weep for me:
The seas must bear thy lover
From country and from thee.
The soldier must not tarry,
When honour points the way;
When danger calls, my deary,
You would not have me stay.
Why should thy heart be laden
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
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Last night I kissed my father,
Beneath our cottage door;
He is an aged father,
I ne'er shall see him more:
Said he, “The breeze is blowing
To bear you,—let it blow:
The God to whom I'm going,
Guard you where'er you go.”
Beneath our cottage door;
He is an aged father,
I ne'er shall see him more:
Said he, “The breeze is blowing
To bear you,—let it blow:
The God to whom I'm going,
Guard you where'er you go.”
Why should thy heart be laden
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
Last night I kissed my mother,
Beneath our cottage door;
She is an aged mother,
I ne'er shall see her more:
She looked up to the heaven
And blessed her only son,
And said, “If I had seven,
I'd say, ‘God's will be done!’”
Beneath our cottage door;
She is an aged mother,
I ne'er shall see her more:
She looked up to the heaven
And blessed her only son,
60
I'd say, ‘God's will be done!’”
Why should thy heart be laden
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
SHE.
Thy mother and thy father
Are old and cannot weep;
What wonder tears should gather
To her whose woe is deep?
And she, whose love is stronger
Than kindred's e'er can be,
When kindred weep no longer,
She still will weep for thee.
Are old and cannot weep;
What wonder tears should gather
To her whose woe is deep?
And she, whose love is stronger
Than kindred's e'er can be,
When kindred weep no longer,
She still will weep for thee.
'Tis thus my heart is laden
With woe for sorrows thine:
If I'm thine own dear maiden,
Thou'rt kith and kin of mine.
With woe for sorrows thine:
If I'm thine own dear maiden,
Thou'rt kith and kin of mine.
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