The Melodist/The Soldier’s Dream

by Anonymous

The Soldier’s Dream.

Our bugles sung truce, for the night cloud had lower’d,
And the centinel stars set the watch in the sky,
And thousands had sunk to the ground overpower’d,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot, that guarded the slain,
⟨In⟩ the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And twice ere the cock crew, I dreamt it again:

⟨Methought⟩ from the battle-field’s dreadful array
Far, far I had roam’d on a desolate track,
⟨Till⟩ nature and sunshine disclos’d the sweet way
To the house of my father, that welcom’d me baek

I flew to the pleasant fields, travell’d so oft.
In life’s morning march, when my bosom was young;
I heard my own mountain goats bleating aloft,
And well knew the strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledg’d we the wine-cup, and fondly I swere,
From my house and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kiss’d me a thousand times o’er,
And my wife sobb'd aloud in the fulness of heart,

Stay, stay with us! rest! thou art weary and worn!
And fain was the war-broken soldier to stay;
But sorrow return’d with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.