University of Virginia Library


172

THE SOLDIER's FAREWELL, ON THE EVE OF A BATTLE.

Night, expecting the dread morrow,
Hover'd o'er the martial train;
Beauteous Alice, led by sorrow,
Hurried to the silent plain:
‘Give the watch-word!’ the guard utter'd
Loudly from his destin'd place;
‘Lo! 'tis I,’ fair Alice mutter'd
Hastening to his fond embrace.
‘Ever beauteous, faithful ever,’
Quick the gallant Youth rejoin'd
‘Cruel Death can only sever
‘Hearts in love's strong links entwin'd.

173

‘Soon shall we be torn asunder,
‘Therefore welcome art thou come:
‘Till morn wakes the battle's thunder
‘Rest thee on that broken drum.’
She sat down, in mind reviewing
Ills the morning might behold,
Tears still other tears pursuing,
Down her cheek in silence roll'd:
Thoughts to other thoughts succeeding
O'er her mind incessant flow;
She, like Meekness, inly-bleeding,
Broods in stillness o'er her woe:
‘Wherefore, Alice, dost thou ponder
‘Evils that are Fancy's brood?
‘Sure our parting might be fonder
‘Than beseems this silent mood:

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‘Yet continue still to ponder
‘Things thy voice wants pow'r to say,
‘Thy dumb grief to me seems fonder
‘Than words deck'd in bright array.’
She replied (her tears still gushing)
‘What avails it to be brave?
‘Thou, amidst the battle rushing,
‘Here perchance may'st meet a grave:
‘Should'st thou perish in the action,
‘Where's the peace to sooth my care?
‘All my life would be distraction,
‘Madness, wailing, and despair.
‘Still thou wert of gentlest carriage,
‘Still affectionately true,
‘And a lover still in marriage,
‘And a friend and parent too.’

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‘Cheer thee, cheer thee, best of women,
‘Trust to the great Pow'r above;
‘When I rush amidst the foemen,
‘Heav'n may think on her I love.
‘Saving is the Miser's pleasure,
‘Spending is the Soldier's thrift;
‘Take this guinea, all my treasure,
‘Take it—as a parting gift.
‘Here end we this mournful meeting,
‘Catch from my lips this fond sigh;
‘If this be our last, last greeting,
‘Know, that I was born to die.
‘See! the day-spring gilds the streamers
‘Waving o'er the martial train;
‘Now the hoarse drum wakes the dreamers,
‘Ne'er perchance to dream again:

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‘Hark! I hear the trumpet's clangor
‘Bid the British youth excel;
‘Now, now glows the battle's anger:
‘Lovely Alice, fare thee well!’