The British Volunteers.
[Written on the Eve of the Russian War, when our brave fellows were so gloriously volunteering for foreign service. The Music may be had at Messrs. Sabin’s, Bull Street, Birmingham.]
For a time I’ve lost the lad I love,
But I'll dry these selfish tears,
For this swain of mine is gone to join
The British volunteers.
And where's a maiden in the land,
With soul so cold and mean,
That would not part with the lad of her heart
In the service of the Queen.
Chorus.
Then sound the trumpet, beat the drum,
And let us give nine cheers
For each brave soul in the muster roll
Of the British Volunteers.
And when at length he shall return,
And these dreadful wars are o’er,
I shall sit by his side a smiling bride,
And he’ll wander forth no more.
How proud of my good man I'll be,
When the neighbours flock to hear
Of the brave deeds done, and the battles won,
By the British Volunteer.
Then sound the trumpet, &c.
