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Art and Fashion

With other sketches, songs and poems. By Charles Swain
  
  

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THE CAMP IS UP!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


296

THE CAMP IS UP!

The camp is up, 'tis break of day!
The drums arousing beat,
The signal trumpet's martial bray,
The tramp of myriad feet,
Still call me from thy last fond kiss,
And all I deem divine!
For, not in Heaven, where beauty is,
Can be such charms as thine!
'Twas not the drum—'twas but the gale
That beat the troubled air;
The trumpet!—'twas the eagle's wail
Above her rocky lair!
But go—if fame be greater bliss,
If honour brighter shine—
I'll ask the stars what glory is,
And that I'll say is thine!

297

Though Morn's sweet breath doth bid us part,
And earth and sky seem fair,
Yet night, deep night, is in this heart—
There is no morning there!
But go—if over love and youth
Still darkly fortune lowers,
We'll ask the Angels what is truth,
And that we'll say is ours!