Anne Hunter

The Farewell

A SONG.

FAR from hope, and lost to pleasure,
Haste away to war's alarms!
Sad I leave my soul's dear treasure
For the dismal din of arms.
But, ah! for thee, I follow glory,
To gain thy love I dare to die;
And when my comrades tell my story,
Thou shalt lament me with a sigh.
All my griefs will then be over,
Sunk in death's eternal rest;
You may regret a faithful lover,
Though you refuse to make him bless'd.
Bestow a tear of kind compassion
To grace a hapless soldier's tomb;
And, ah! forgive a fatal passion,
Which reason could not overcome.