The Soldier's Grave.
[This first appeared in a small volume of poems by J. Fraser, Edinburgh, published about 1818. It was quoted in the Scotsman newspaper, and became generally popular.]
Dear land of my birth, of my friends, of my love,
Shall I never again climb thy mountains:
Nor wander at eve through some lone leafy grove,
To list to the dash of thy fountains?
Shall no hand that I love close my faint beaming eye,
That darkens 'mid warfare and danger?
Ah, no! for I feel that my last heaving sigh
Must fleet on the gale of the stranger.
Then farewell, ye valleys, ye fresh blooming bow'rs,
Of childhood the once happy dwelling;
No more in your haunts shall I chase the gay hours
For death at my bosom is knelling.
But proudly the lotus shall bloom o'er my grave,
And mark where a freeman is sleeping,
And my dirge shall be heard in the Nile's dashing wave,
While the Arab his night watch is keeping.
'Twas a soldier who spoke—but his voice now is gone,
And lowly the hero is lying;
No sound meets the ear, save the crocodile's moan,
Or the breeze through the palm-tree sighing.
But lone though he rests where the camel is seen,
By the wilderness heavily pacing;
His grave in our bosoms shall ever be green,
And his monument ne'er know defacing.