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The Soldier who to Battle goes.
The Soldier who to battle goes,
And danger braves tor duty,
Altho’ be laughs at fears or foes,
Like others sighs for beauty;
For Cupid’s a een’ral whom all must obey,
As the bravest of mortals must prove,
For no weapon, tho’ keenest that art can display,
Can wound like the arrow of love.
And danger braves tor duty,
Altho’ be laughs at fears or foes,
Like others sighs for beauty;
For Cupid’s a een’ral whom all must obey,
As the bravest of mortals must prove,
For no weapon, tho’ keenest that art can display,
Can wound like the arrow of love.
The Soldier from tire field returns
To tell his martial story ;
With joy his ardent bosom burns,
To gain the meed of glory :
But glory you’ll find little more than a name,
And affection much sweeter will prove,
For tho’ grateful the much-envy’d laurel of fame,
Much dearer’s the myrtle of love.
To tell his martial story ;
With joy his ardent bosom burns,
To gain the meed of glory :
But glory you’ll find little more than a name,
And affection much sweeter will prove,
For tho’ grateful the much-envy’d laurel of fame,
Much dearer’s the myrtle of love.
Sweet Laura of the Vale.
With hat of straw and russet gown,
Her ringlets hung adown, adown,
And wanton’d in the gale;
With honest heart and simple mein,
How blest an humble village-queen,
Sweet Laura of the Vale!
Sing, dawn, adown.
Her ringlets hung adown, adown,
And wanton’d in the gale;
With honest heart and simple mein,
How blest an humble village-queen,
Sweet Laura of the Vale!
Sing, dawn, adown.
