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The trumpets sound,
The colors they are flying, boys;

To fight, kill or wound;

May we still be found,
Content with our hard fate, my boys,

On the cold ground.
Why soldiers, why
Should we be melancholy, boys?

Why, soldiers, why,
Whose business 'tis to die

What-sighing? fie!
Don't fear, drink on, be jolly, boys;

'Tis he, you, or I,

Cold, hot, wet, or dry,
We're always bound to follow, boys;

And scorn to fly.

"Tis but in vain,
(I mean not to upbraid you, boys,)

"Tis but in vain,
For soldiers to complain;

Should next campaign
Send us to Him who made us, boys,

We are free from pain;

But if we remain,
A bottle and kind landlady

Cure all again.

THE SOLDIER'S ADIEU. Adieu, adieu, my only life,

My honor calls me from thee, Remember thou’rt a soldier's wife,

Those tears but ill become thee; What though by duty I am callid,

Where thundering cannon's rattle, Where valor's self might stand appallid, Where valor's self might stand appallid, When on the wings of thy dear love,

To Heaven above
Thy fervent orisons are flown,

The tender pray’r thou puttest up there,
Shall call a guardian angel down,
Shall call a guardian angel down,

To watch me in the battle.
My safety thy fair truth shall be,

As sword and buckler serving,
My life shall be more dear to me,

Because of thy preserving:
Let peril come, let horror threat,

Let thundering cannon's rattle,
I fearless seek the conflict's heat;

Assured when on the wings of love,

To Heav'n above, &c.
Enough, with that benignant smile

Some kindred god inspired thee,
Who saw thy bosom void of guile,

Who wonder'd, and admired thee:
I go assured, my life, adieu,
Though thundering cannons rattle,
Though murdering carnage stalk in view

When on the wings of thy true love,
To Heav'n above, &c.

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THE DRUM. COME, each gallant lad,

Who for pleasure quits care; To the drum, drum, drum, &c.

To the drum-head with spirit repair. Each recruiter takes his glass,

And each young soldier with his lass, While the drum beats tattoo, while, &c.

Retires the sweet night to pass.

Each night gaily lads

Thus we'll merrily waste, Till the drum, drum, drum, &c.

Til the drum tells us 'tis past. Picquet arms at dawn now shine,

And each drum ruffles down the line, Now the drums beat reveille, now, &c.

Saluting the day divine. But hark! yonder shouts

See the standard now alarms, Now the drum, drum, drum, &c.

Now the drum beats loudly to arms. Kill’d and wounded, how they lie!

Helter, skelter, see they fly, Now the drum beats retreat, now,

&c. We'll fire a feu-de-joie.

THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. THE moon was beaming silver bright,

The eye no cloud could view; Her lover's step in silent night, Well pleas'a, the damsel knew,,

At.midnight hour,

Beneath the tower, He murmur'd soft, “ Oh, nothing fearing,

With your own true Soldier fly, And his faithful heart be cheering;

List! dear, tis I; List! list, list, love; list! dear tis I; With thine own true Soldier fly." Then whisper'd Love, “Oh, maiden fair,

Ere morning sheds its ray,
Thy lover calls;-all peril dare,
And haste to horse away!

In time of need,
Yon gallant steed.

That champs the rein, delay reproving,

Shall each peril bear thee by,
With its master's charmer roving;

List! dear, 'tis I;
List! list, list, love; list! dear, tis I;
With 'thine own true Soldier fly.”
And now the gallant Soldier's Bride,

She's fled her home afar,
And chance, or joy, or woe betide,
She'll brave with him the war!

And bless the hour,

When 'neath the tow'r,
He whisper'd soft, “ Oh, nothing fearing,

With thinə own true Soldier Ay,
And his faitntul heart be cheering:

List! dear, 'tis I;
List! list, list, love; list! dear, 'tis I;
With thine own true Soldier fly.”

THE KNIGHT ERRANT. It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for

Palestine, But first he made his orisons before St. Mary's shrine; And grant, Immortal Queen of Heaven," was still

the soldier's prayer, “ That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the

fairest fair." His oath of honor on the shrine he graved it with his

sword, And followed to the Holy Land the banner of his lord; Where faithful to his noble vow,

his war-cry fill'd the air,Be honor'd aye the bravest knight, belov'd the fairest fair,"

They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his liege

lord said, “ The heart that has for honor beat, by bliss must be

repaid; My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the

fair.” And then they bound the holy knot before St. Mary's

shrine, That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands

combine; And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel

there, Cried, “ Honor'd be the bravest knight, belov'd the

fairest fair."

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TUNE— The Moreen.'
The Minstrel boy to the war is gone,

In the ranks of death you'll find him,
His father's sword he has girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him.
“ Land of song,” said the warrior bard,

“ Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee."
The minstrel fell! but the foemen's chain

Could not bring his proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,

For he tore its chords asunder;
And said, “ No chains shall sully thee,

Thou soul of love and bravery!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,

They shall never sound in slavery."

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