  Forlorn posts leading, thirty long years fought I Stoutly and well on freedom’s battle plain; Hopeless of triumph, never hoped or thought I Safe and uninjured home to see again. I watch’d both day and night, slept not a tittle, As when I camp’d amongst my friends of yore; (And if I felt inclined to doze a little, I soon was waken’d by my neighbour’s snore.) In those long nights ennui would oft assail me, And fear as well,—(’tis fools who never fear;) To scare them, I delighted to regale me With whistling songs all full of gibe and jeer. Yes, watchfully I stood, my weapon grasping,— If a suspicious looking fool drew nigh, I took a careful aim, and laid him gasping With a hot bullet in his paunch or thigh. But by-and-by, if I may so express it, This clumsy fool, whom I so much deride, Proves the best shot; and now, I must confess it, My blood pours forth, my wounds are gaping wide. A post is vacant! All my wounds are gaping— One falls, the others follow in his wake; Unvanquish’d fall I,—from my hands escaping My arms break not, my heart alone doth break. |
|
