University of Virginia Library

IT IS NOT ON THE BATTLE FIELD.

I

It is not on the battle field
That I would wish to die;
It is not on a broken shield
I'd breathe my latest sigh:
And though a soldier knows not how
To dread a soldier's doom;
I ask no laurel for my brow,
No trophy for my tomb.

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II

It is not that I scorn the wreath
A soldier proudly wears,
It is not that I fear the death
A soldier proudly dares.
When slaughter'd comrades round me lie,
I'd be the last to yield;
But yet I would not wish to die
Upon the battle field.

III

When faint and bleeding in the fray,
Oh! still let me retain
Enough of life to crawl away
To this sweet vale again;
For like the wounded weary dove,
That flutters to its nest,
I fain would reach my own dear love,
And die upon her breast.