The Bed of Heath

“Soldier, awake! the night is past;
Hear’st thou not the bugle’s blast?
Feel’st thou not the dayspring’s breath?
Rouse thee from thy bed of heath!
Arm, thou bold and strong!
Soldier! what deep spell hath bound thee?
Fiery steeds are neighing round thee--
Banners to the fresh wind play:
Rise, and arm--’tis day,’tis day!
And thou hast slumber’d long.”

“Brother! on the heathery lea
Longer yet my sleep must be;
Though the morn of battle rise,
Darkly night rolls o’er my eyes--
Brother, this is death!
Call me not when bugles sound,
Call me not when wine flows round;
Name me but amidst the brave,
Give me but a soldier’s grave--
But my bed of heath!”