GO, MY OWN DARLING BOY.
I
Go, my own darling boy,
Though to see thee depart
Blights the last bud of joy
In my desolate heart:
Thou art call'd to the field
Where thy father was slain;
And thy mother must yield
All she values again.
II
My child only thinks
Of the conqueror's wreath;
My coward heart shrinks
With forebodings of death;
Thy friends may be seen
Giving laurels to thee;
But branches as green
Will then wave over me.
III
The young may assuage
Half their parting regrets;
But care clings to age
Till it doats, and forgets:
The young who deplore,
May yet meet thee in joy;
But thy mother no more
Shall behold thee, dear boy!
