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| SOLDIER, 1 rest! thy warfare o’er, | |
| Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; | |
| Dream of battled fields no more, | |
| Days of danger, nights of waking. | |
| In our isle’s enchanted hall, | 5 |
| Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, | |
| Fairy strains of music fall, | |
| Every sense in slumber dewing. | |
| Soldier, rest! thy warfare o’er, | |
| Dream of fighting fields no more; | 10 |
| Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, | |
| Morn of toil, nor night of waking. | |
| |
| No rude sound shall reach thine ear, | |
| Armour’s clang, or war-steed champing, | |
| Trump nor pibroch summon here | 15 |
| Mustering clan or squadron tramping. | |
| Yet the lark’s shrill fife may come | |
| At the daybreak from the fallow, | |
| And the bittern sound his drum, | |
| Booming from the sedgy shallow. | 20 |
| Ruder sounds shall none be near, | |
| Guards nor warders challenge here, | |
| Here’s no war-steed’s neigh and champing, | |
| Shouting clans or squadrons stamping. | |
| |
| Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; | 25 |
| While our slumbrous spells assail ye, | |
| Dream not, with the rising sun, | |
| Bugles here shall sound reveillé. | |
| Sleep! the deer is in his den; | |
| Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying: | 30 |
| Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen | |
| How thy gallant steed lay dying. | |
| Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; | |
| Think not of the rising sun, | |
| For at dawning to assail ye | 35 |
| Here no bugles sound reveillé. | |
