Our bugles ang thrice, for the night-clon had lower'd
And the entineld-sts set their wath in the sky.
And thouands had sunk on the ground, overpower'd,
The weary to deep, and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night on my pallet of eraw,
By the wolf-aring faggot that guarded rhe alain,
In the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw.
And thrice, ere the morning, I dreamt it again.
Methought from the battle-feld' dreadful rmy.
Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate mak.
Twae Autumn, and sunshine arose on the way,
To tie home of my father. that weamn'd me bak.
I few to the pleasant filds, travered so aft
In life's morning march, when my bosom wa young;
I heard my own mountain-goats blesting askt,
And knew the sweet strain, that the cora-respen unlg.
Then pledged we the wine cnp, and fadly I aware
hn om my hoe and my weeping friend never to part;
My little ones kiu'd me a thousand times oer,
And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulnes of hert-
SStay. stay with u, rest-thA art weary and warn I
And fain was the war-broken soldier to ay :
But sorrow returned with the dawning of man,
And the voice in my dreaming ear mled away.