The Soldier's Dream

2209

Heart of oak are our ships,
Heart of oak are our men,
We always are ready:
Steady, boys, steady!

We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay,
They never see us but they wish us away;
If they run, why, we follow, or run them ashore;
For if they won't fight us we cannot do more.

They swear they'll invade us, these terrible foes!
They frighten our women, our children and beaux;
But should their flat bottoms in darkness get o'er,
Still Britons they 'il find to receive them on shore.

Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep the sea;
Her standard is Justice-her watchward, "Be free."
Then cheer up, my lads! with one heart let us sing,
"Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our King,"
David Garrick [1717-1779]

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
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,
At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw;
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track:
'Twas Autumn,—and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back,

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.

And my

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

Thomas Campbell [1777–1844]

THE CAVALIER'S SONG

A STEED, a steed of matchless speed!

A sword of metal keen!

All else to noble hearts is dross,

All else on earth is mean.

The neighing of the war-horse proud,
The rolling of the drum,

The clangor of the trumpet loud,

Be sounds from heaven that come;
And oh! the thundering press of knights,
Whenas their war-cries swell,

May tole from heaven an angel bright,

And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mount! then mount, brave gallants all,

And don your helms amain;

Death's couriers, Fame and Honor, call

Us to the field again.

No shrewish fears shall fill our eye

When the sword-hilt's in our hand

Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sigh
For the fairest of the land!

Cavalier Tunes

Let piping swain, and craven wight,
Thus weep and puling cry;

Our business is like men to fight,

And hero-like to die!

221I

William Motherwell (1797-1835]

CAVALIER TUNES

I-MARCHING ALONG

KENTISH Sir Byng stood for his King,
Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing:
And, pressing a troop unable to stoop,
And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop,
Marched them along, fifty-score strong,
Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

God for King Charles! Pym and such carles
To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles!
Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup,

Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup

Till you're

Chorus.-Marching along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

Hampton to hell, and his obsequies' knell.
Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!
England, good cheer! Rupert is near!
Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here,

Chorus.-Marching along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song?

Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls
To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles!
Hold by the right, you double your might;
So, onward to Nottingham, fresh from the fight,

Chorus.-March we along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!

II-GIVE A ROUSE

King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
King Charles!

Who gave me the goods that went since?
Who raised me the house that sank once?
Who helped me to gold I spent since?
Who found me in wine you drank once?

Cho.-King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
King Charles!

To whom used my boy George quaff else,

By the old fool's side that begot him?
For whom did he cheer and laugh else,

While Noll's damned troopers shot him?

Cho.-King Charles, and who'll do him right now? King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, King Charles!

III-BOOT AND SADDLE

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Rescue my castle before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray.

Cho.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there, will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay-
Cho.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,

Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,

Cho.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!”

The Song of the Camp

2213

Who? My wife Gertrude, that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?

Cho.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

THE SONG OF THE CAMP

"GIVE us a song!" the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding,
When the heated guns of the camps allied
Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,

Lay, grim and threatening, under; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. A guardsman said, "We storm the forts to-morrow;

Sing while we may, another day

Will bring enough of sorrow."

They lay along the battery's side,

Below the smoking cannon:

Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde,
And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love, and not of fame;
Forgot was Britain's glory:

Each heart recalled a different name,
But all sang "Annie Laurie."

Voice after voice caught up the song,

Until its tender passion

Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,―

Their battle-eve confession.

Dear girl, her name he dared not speak,
But, as the song grew louder,
Something upon the soldier's cheek

Washed off the stains of powder.