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After many a well-fought day, When with gen'rous ardour burning, Soldiers to their home returning, Chide the long and tardy way. Home advancing near and nearer, Wives and friends to greet them run; Dear before, but now far dearer, From the gallant deeds they've done. Some distracted wild with pleasure, Hands and hats and ribbons wave; Others sad, the long line measure, For the friends no prayer could save. Is he gone? they ask with sorrow, Is he lost? they ask with dread: Will he not return to-morrow? Is our gallant soldier dead? Yes! he's dead-but fell with glory, Fell, his country's rights to save: Yes! he's dead-but lives in story, Honour decks the soldier's grave. Then with hearts too nearly broken, To their lonely homes they turn, Pressing to their lips some token, From the friend for whom they mourn.
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