176 MILITARY SONGS. Go watch the foremost ranks in danger's dark career, tear. THE SOLDIER KNOWS THAT EVERY BALL. THE soldier knows that every ball And whether doomed to rise or fall, To serve his country is his plan, To foreign climes he cheerly goes, THE DASHING WHITE SERJEANT. IF I had a beau For a soldier who'd go, Do you think I'd say no? No, not I! When his red coat I saw, Not a sigh would it draw, But give him he eclat for his bravery! If an army of Amazons e'er came in play, As a dashing white serjeant I'd march away! When my soldier was gone, D'ye think I'd take on; Sit moping forlorn? No, not I; His fame my concern, How my bosom would burn, When I saw him return, crown'd with victory. If an army, &c. HOW HAPPY'S THE SOLDIER. How happy's the soldier that lives on his pay, With his row de dow, &c. He cares not a marvedi how the world goes: With his row de dow, &c. The drum is his pleasure, his joy, and delight, With his row de dow, &c THE OLD SOLDIER'S TEAR. THEY have donn'd their scarlet garb, And the warrior's heart beats quick and high, But still as he looks on his gallant boys, He wipes away a tear. They are foremost on the breach, But the voice of their dying cheer, He has past his native hill, He is on his native plain, And the young who went with him away, But the mother's whisper of her boys, And the soldier sighs for his bravest now, wwwwwww A SOLDIER'S GRATITUDE. WHATE'ER my fate, where'er I roam, The tender sigh, the balmy tear, Still may you claim a soldier's thanks, A soldier's gratitude. THE ONSET. SOUND an alarm! the foe is come! I hear the tramp,-the neigh,—the hum, Sound! The blast of our trumpet blown Have we not sinews as strong as they? Huzzah! Look! They are staggered on yon black heath: Steady awhile and hold your breath! Now is your time, men,- Down like Death! Huzzah!-Huzzah! Stand by each other, and front your foes! GLOWING with love, on fire for fame, And thus he sung his last good morrow; "My arm it is my country's right, My heart is in my true-love's bower; Gaily for love and fame to fight Befits the gallant Troubadour." And while he march'd, with helm on head 66 The minstrel's burden still he sung; E'en when the battle-roar was deep, With dauntless heart he hew'd his way, 'Mid splintering lance and falchion's sweep, And still was heard the warrior lay: "My arm it is my country's right, My heart is in my lady's bower; For love to die, for fame to fight, Becomes the valiant Troubadour." Alas! upon the bloody field, 66 He fell beneath the foeman's glaive; |