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Robert Tannahill

 

 

                                                                               

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                       

 

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The Soldier's Funeral

 


Air—" Holden's Dead March."
1805.

 

Now let the procession move solemn and slow,
While the soft mournful music accords with our woe,
While friendship's warm tears round his ashes are shed,
And soul melting memory weeps for the dead.
Kind, good hearted fellow as ever was known !
So kind and so good every heart was his own ;
Now, alas ! low in death are his virtues all o'er ;
How painful the thought, we shall see him no more !

 

In camp or in quarters he still was the same,
Each countenance brightened wherever he came ;
When the wars of his country compelled him to roam,
He, cheerful, would say, all the world was his home.
And when the fierce conflict of armies began,
He fought like a lion, yet felt as a man ;
For when British brav'ry had vanquish'd the foe,
He'd weep o'er the dead by his valour laid low.

 

Ye time fretted mansions ! ye mould'ring piles !
Long echo his praise through your long vaulted aisles ;
If haply his shade nightly glide through your gloom,
O tell him our hearts lie with him in the tomb!
And say, though he's gone, long his worth shall remain,
Remember'd, belov'd, by the whole of the men.—
Whoe'er acts like him, with a warm feeling heart,
Friendship's tears drop applause at the close of his part.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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