62

The Minstrel's Return from the War.

The minstrel return'd from the war,
With spirits as buoyant as air,
And thus on his tuneful guitar,
He sings in the bower of his fair:
The noise of the battle is over,
The bugle no more calls to arms,
A soldier no more, but a lover,
I kneel to the power of thy charms!
Sweet lady! dear lady! I'm thine,
I bend to the magic of beauty,
Tho' the helmet and banner are mine,
Yet love calls the soldier to duty.

The minstrel his suit warmly pressed,
She blushed, sighed, and hung down her head,
'Till conquered, she fell on his breast,
And thus to the happy youth said:
The bugle shall part us, love, never,
My bosom thy pillow shall be,
Till death tears thee from me for ever,
Still faithful, I'll perish with thee."

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Sweet lady! dear lady, I'm thine,
I bend to the magic of beauty;
Tho' the helmet and banner are mine,
Yet love calls the soldier to duty.

But fame call'd the youth to the field
His banner wav'd over his head,
He gave his guitar for a shield,
But soon he laid low with the dead:
While she o'er her young hero bending,
Receiv'd his expiring adieu;
"I die while my country defending,
With my heart to my lady-love true."
"Oh, death!" she then sighed, "I am thine,
I tear off the roses of beauty,
For the grave of my hero is mine —
He died true to love and to duty."