The Soldier's Adieu
The European Magazine, LXII (February, 1813), p. 141
Farewell to those fields where in childhood I wander'd,
And fresh as the morning I stray'd unconfin'd;
Farewell to that brook whose stream gently meander'd
Through the sweet-smiling valley I'm leaving behind.
Farewell to the spot where the sun at retiring
Smil'd with its last rays on the cot that was
Where I paus'd from my toil, and, the scene oft admiring,
My soul has been rais'd to its Author divine.
No more shall the soft village bells with your chiming
Invite me to meet my dear girl at the door;
Or when in sweet converse the hill we've been climbing,
Has bid us return e'er our converse was o'er.
Fond sources of pleasure! sweet faded delusion!
I'll cherish thy image wherever I roam,
Though departed the joy I'll still court the illusion,
And forget all my cares whilst I think of my home.
When twilight the mild sun of ev'n is o'ertaking,
And the morn sips the dew-drops that's scatter'd
I'll pray for thy peace, tho' the tempest is shaking
The spot where I stand, the poor victim of war.
And thy weal, much-lov'd Albion, I'll still be defending,
Unaw'd by the foe my soul justly abhors:
Yes! for thee will I strive, though my heart should be rending,
And with my last breath yield a pray'r for thy