The soldier

Then, soldier! Come fill high the wine,

For we reck not of tomorrow;

Be ours today and we resign

All the rest to the fools of sorrow.

Gay be the hour 'til we beat to arms

Then comrade Death or Glory;

'Tis Victory in all her charms,

Or 'tis Fame in the world's bright story.

'Tis you, 'tis I that may meet the ball;

And me it better pleases

In battle, brave, with the brave to fall,

Than to die of dull diseases;

Driveller to be in my fireside chair

With saws and tales unheeded;

A tottering thing of aches and care

No longer lov'd nor needed.

But thou, O dark is thy flowing hair,

Andthine eye with fire is streaming,

And o'er thy cheek, thy looks, thine air,

Sits health in triumph beaming.

Thou, brother soldier, fill the wine,

Fill high to love and beauty;

Love, friendship, honour, all are thine,

Thy country and thy duty.