Ann Mounsey Bartholomew
2 voix · Voice, Piano
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Away, away, my gallant Warrior Boy! The trimpet peals its note of joy! The field must all our cares employ, Where valiant, valiant hearts beat high: The Lute awhile must quit thy hand, Behold! I grasp the shining brand, The Foe assails our Fatherland, And clan gors rend the sky! Prepare my eager Battle steed, Away, away with light’ning speed, Prepare the burning charge to lead, At Glory’s onward, onward cry! Adieu, awhile, our native Tow’rs! To Beauty’s smile and festal bow’rs: There yet may come some gentle hours, For Love, for Love, and music’s sigh: Farewell to thee, sweet Ev’ning chime! For we, who chase the wing of Time, Must be afar, ere morning prime, Where War’s red banners fly. Hurrah! for Valors laurell’d meed! Away! away, with light’ning speed! Prepare the burning charge to lead, At Glory’s all inspiring cry!
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