Classic Poem

There, where at eve I sought a bed,
A pressgang came, recruits to hunt;
Over the wall the goodman sped,
And left his wife to bear the brunt.

Ah me! the cruel serjeant's rage!
Ah me! how sadly she anon
Told all her story's mournful page—
How three sons to the war had gone;

How one had sent a line to say
That two had been in battle slain:
He, from the fight had run away,
But they could ne'er come back again.

She swore 'twas all the family—
Except a grandson at the breast;
His mother too was there, but she
Was all in rags and tatters drest

The crone with age was troubled sore,
But for herself she'd not think twice
To journey to the seat of war
And help to cook the soldiers' rice.

The night wore on and stopped her talk;
Then sobs upon my hearing fell …
At dawn when I set forth to walk,
Only the goodman cried Farewell!