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Robert Tannahill

 

 

                                                                               

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I hate the drum's discordant sound,
Parading round and round and round ;
To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields,
And lures from cities and from fields,
To sell their liberty for charms
Of tawdry lace, and glitt'ring arms,
And, when Ambition's voice commands,
March, fight, and fall in foreign lands.

 

I hate that drum's discordant sound,
Parading round and round and round ;
To me it talks of ravag'd_plains
And burning towns, and ruin'd swains,
And mangled limbs, and dying groans,
And widows' tears, and orphans' moans,
And all that Mis'ry's hand bestows
To swell the list of human woes.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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