Ballad—in Will of the Wisp

Though hard the valiant soldier's life, They some sweet moments know; Joy ne'er was yet unmixed with strife, Nor happiness with woe:

'Tis hard, when friend, when children, wife, Reluctant from him part, While fancy paints the muffled drum, The mournful fife, And the loud volley o'er his grave, The solemn requiem to the brave! All this he hears, Yet calm's their fears With smiles while horror's in his heart:

But when the smiling hour shall come, To bring him home at last, How sweet his constant wife to greet, His children, friends, And in their circling arms to find amends, For all his sufferings past.

'Tis hard when, desolation spread, Death whirls the rapid car, And those invaded hear, and dread The thunder of the war:

Ah! then, indeed, friend, children, wife, Have you true cause to fear, Too soon, alas, the muffled drum, The mournful fife, And the loud volley o'er the grave, Shall sound sad requiems to the brave, While those alive, Faint joy revive, And blend hope's smile with pity's tear:

But when the smiling hour shall come, To bring him home at last, How sweet his constant wife to greet, His children, friends, And in their circling arms to find amends, For all his sufferings past.