Poetry

Weary, and woundel, nnJ worn, - Weiry and rcady lo die, A soldier Ihey !efi uil alone and f .rlorn, On the field of battle to lie. The dend and dying alone Ciiuld tbeir presencc and pily nfTird - Whilst with a sad and terrible lone, lic eang die Song of die SworJ. Pightl ("glit! fighi! Tlintiüh a I houtand failiers die; Figl.t! fis,t! fightl Tliough ; lioti&nnHs ot children cry ; Fight ! fiht ! figM ! W hitst mothers nnd wives lament, And fiolu! flglu! Bjbl ! Wliilo milliuns of money aro tpent. Fg l! fg' t! nM,t! Should c.-uise be (uu! or fair - Though ail tiifit's nined is an empiy name. And a tax loo graat to bear: An empty nums and n p illry famc, And thousnnds lying riead, Whilst every glorious vicloty Must raise die pi ice of bread. War! war', warl I''ire and fnniineand sword; Dcsnliie fieids and deselate tvn?, And ihousnnds scottcred abroad With nevera hotníand never a shed, AVhilst kinadoms perish and fa!l, And hundredsof tlio?ands are lying dead, And all - for nothing at a!l. Ali. whv should sucli ninrtals rs I K:!l ihose Wbom we never cou'rl líate - 'Tis to oliey yotir commander or i ; - 'TÍ8 the Inw of the swird and the sta'e. For we ure the veriest slives Thitever had their birth; Fji' ii plüise tin wliim of a tyrani'g will Is al our use Uiion eartli. War! war! v;ir! Mukkttt nnd pi'.vjer nnd hall: Ah. wint do we fijh' s- for f Ali. why hivs wn hmles nt all? That justico nny bu d me. they sai'. The ntiiion'p honor to keep Al-.s. that j'if ice is s dea-, And liu-nan hfe sri ;h,ip? 'Tis s id thüt a Cfiriethn land - A prore.-'srd C'iristhh st.t ?. Sho'ild thusdespito lliat high command, So uspf'.il r.nl s-i ."rent - DelivtTt-d liy Chiist himsclj on car h, Our ciuisir.i t znide 10 be - Tu love nor n'éiglib'irs as ourselves, And bkss our r;i'.':iv. Wnrl wa ! wni ! Misery, murdernl rrime. Aio all the bleashies i've ppcn in tliee Fvoui niy yuuth to the present time; Mi : :y. niurdír nfldcime, Crime, misery. murdcrand wne ; Ah.wuulil I li id kn'iwn in i y yi u:ig"r days, In n;y hours of lioyish glee, A renth of its tniïery - I now hsd been j-iiniiig a hnppy band Ofwifpam! rhidien dear, And I bid died in my na'.ive [ai:d, lustend ol dying l.ero. Weary. and woudded, and worn, Wuunil;d and rendy to die, A ildisr tliev lef l! nlunennd forlorn, ('n the field of baitlj to lio : The dead and the dying nlune Coutd their presencc nnd pity rffnd, W'iiilst dii's with a sad and terribl.; tone, (O wrre these trutlis more psriectly knutvn) ile sanu: the Song of the Swórd.