Classic Poem

A BALLAD .

As a hapless young damsel in sorrowful tune,
Was mourning the loss of a valiant Dragoon,
A ruddy young swain was observing her near,
In humble array but a brave Volunteer!

If report of his worth, you may truly rely on,
He was meek as a lamb, yet as bold as a lion,
If his promise he gave you, no bond need appear
He wou'd serve you, or pay you — a just Volunteer.

" Ah, how shall I venture " he tenderly cried,
" No helmet to grace me, nor sword by my side
" But a musket I'd shew, if the French shou'd come here,
" And I think I cou'd fight like a true Volunteer.

" Tho' I own the Dragoons may be noble and brave
" I'll stain not the name that my grandfather gave,
" He plough'd the rich acres which still must be dear;
" And a laurel may grow for a poor Volunteer!

" Then scorn not fair maiden, my humble attire
" I've a heart that is true for the girl I admire,
" Tho' others more gay, and more brilliant appear
" Old England is proud of a plain Volunteer.

" Accept, or refuse me, sincere must I be
" I'll die not fair damsel, not even for thee —
" My life is from Heaven! I must prize it my dear
" For my king and my country — a true Volunteer.