War Lyrics dedicated to the friends of the dead. By A. and L. Shore. Second edition, with additions |
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WAR MUSIC. |
 | War Lyrics |  |
WAR MUSIC.
The merest soldier is to-day
The poet of his art,
Though he should neither sing nor say
The transports of his heart.
The poet of his art,
Though he should neither sing nor say
The transports of his heart.
His genius writes in words of steel,
And utters them in thunder—
Whilst we want speech for what we feel,
Who sit at home and wonder.
And utters them in thunder—
Whilst we want speech for what we feel,
Who sit at home and wonder.
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And those whom England with a cry
Saw dashed into the strife,
Those men of ours who rode to die,
Like men who ride for life—
Saw dashed into the strife,
Those men of ours who rode to die,
Like men who ride for life—
Whose souls, ere well the word had gone,
Into the smoke were hurled,
Who bound on bound went charging on
Into another world,
Into the smoke were hurled,
Who bound on bound went charging on
Into another world,
(No lover nobler frenzy knew,
Nor “sighed” a “truer breath,”
Than theirs who with loose bridles flew
Into the arms of death.)
Nor “sighed” a “truer breath,”
Than theirs who with loose bridles flew
Into the arms of death.)
Doubt not, I say, the hearts of all
A grander music made,
When dancing to that funeral,
Than ever clarion played.
A grander music made,
When dancing to that funeral,
Than ever clarion played.
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And music in our hearts at home
Re-echoes, as we read,
The rapturous harmonies that come
From an immortal deed.
Re-echoes, as we read,
The rapturous harmonies that come
From an immortal deed.
L. November, 1854.
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