the captive warrior's lament.
139
The poorest serf can idly roam,
And none will ask him why;
Whilst I, a warrior true and tried,
A helpless captive lie!
And none will ask him why;
Whilst I, a warrior true and tried,
A helpless captive lie!
Oh! for my steed, my noble steed,
My good and gallant gray,
To bear me to the battle-field,
Or perish by the way!
My good and gallant gray,
To bear me to the battle-field,
Or perish by the way!
Methinks it is a glorious death,
In freedom's cause to die,
While shouts of victory round us peal,
And foes before us fly;
In freedom's cause to die,
While shouts of victory round us peal,
And foes before us fly;
But thus to linger day by day,
Amid this dungeon's gloom,
This sepulcher of all my hopes,
This worse than living tomb!
Amid this dungeon's gloom,
This sepulcher of all my hopes,
This worse than living tomb!
What! drops of weakness, will ye come?
No shame that ye should start;
The tear that stains a warrior's cheek
Is from a patriot's heart.
No shame that ye should start;
The tear that stains a warrior's cheek
Is from a patriot's heart.
