The Farewell

Must hearts who love so dearly part,
And must they bid adieu?
And must those eyes, in weeping, dart
Their last and fondest view?
How cruel comes the parting day,
When we have parted never,
And one must wander far away,
To come no more for ever!

They lived securely in their glen,
Like doves they fondly loved,
And never had their feet, till then,
Beyond their mountains roved;
But far away the trumpet calls
To danger and to death;
How cold and heavy on them falls
That trumpet's warning breath!

For war is now upon their shores,
And he must meet the foe,
Must go where battle's thunder roars,
And brave men slumber low;
Go, where the sleep of death comes on
The proudest hearts, who dare
To grasp the wreath by valor won,
And glory's banquet share.

O, bright the wreath the warrior twines!
But dark the heart it covers,
For like a blasting fire it shines
On widowed wives and lovers:
How glorious is the front of fight,
When first the gun has spoken!
But dimly gleams its after light,
For many a heart is broken.

Yes, they must part, who loved so long,
And part for ever too;
How many bitter feelings throng
Around that last adieu!
Their hands are pressed, their bosoms meet,
That look — what words can tell?
And faint the voice, when they repeat
That cold, that wild Farewell .
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.