THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER
'Tis a ghost and but the shadow of a young volunteer,
He is dead and stilly sleeping, what should be haunting here?
'Tis but the storm winds flutter old dreams you dare not utter
And false the hopes they mutter, and pale the volunteer,
'Tis a dream volunteer, yea, a dead volunteer,
Old leaves that fly and flutter round a dead volunteer.
Oh, be he ghost or shadow of a lost volunteer,
Though sad this heart and grieving, still welcome is he here,
The greater his recruiting, who fell from cowardly shooting,
I stand to him saluting, oh, my brave volunteer.
Oh, the dear volunteer, oh, this true volunteer,
All the greater the recruiting of this dead volunteer.
38
