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Now—but one moment—let me stay
One moment, ere I go
To join the ranks whose bugles play
On Eversham's woody brow.
One calm hour on the brink of life
Before I dash amid the strife
That sounds upon my ear;
That sullen sound whose sullen roll
Bursts over many a parting soul—
That deep-mouthed voice of war!
Here am I standing lonely 'neath
The shade of quiet trees,
That scarce can catch a single breath
Of this sweet evening breeze.
And nothing in the twilight sky
Except its veil of clouds on high,
All sleeping calm and grey;
And nothing on the summer gale
But the sweet trumpet's solemn wail
Slow sounding far away.
That and the strange, uncertain sound
Scarce heard, yet heard by all;
A trembling through the summer ground,
A murmuring round the wall.
