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6
SOLDIER'S SONG.
The heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken curtains for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,
Far, far from love and thee, Mary.
Tomorrow eve, more stilly laid,
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song, thy wail sweet maid!
It will not wauken me, Mary!
The bracken curtains for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,
Far, far from love and thee, Mary.
Tomorrow eve, more stilly laid,
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song, thy wail sweet maid!
It will not wauken me, Mary!
I may not, dare not, fancy now,
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow;
I dare not think upon thy vow,
And all it promis'd me, Mary!
No fond regret must Norman know;
When bursts clan Alpine on the foe,
His heart must be like bended bow,
His foot like arrow free, Mary!
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow;
I dare not think upon thy vow,
And all it promis'd me, Mary!
No fond regret must Norman know;
When bursts clan Alpine on the foe,
His heart must be like bended bow,
His foot like arrow free, Mary!
A time will come with feeling fraught,
For if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying though,
Shall be a thought on thee, Mary!
And if return'd from conquer'd foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
For if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying though,
Shall be a thought on thee, Mary!
And if return'd from conquer'd foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
