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OUR bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered, | |
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; | |
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, | |
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. | |
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When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, | 5 |
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, | |
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, | |
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. | |
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Methought from the battle-fields dreadful array | |
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track: | 10 |
Twas autumn; and sunshine arose on the way | |
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. | |
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I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft | |
In lifes morning march, when my bosom was young: | |
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, | 15 |
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. | |
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Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore | |
From my home and my weeping friends never to part: | |
My little ones kissed me a thousand times oer, | |
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. | 20 |
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Stay, stay with usrest, thou art weary and worn: | |
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; | |
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, | |
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. | |
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