GRAND CHORUS.
War has still its melody;——
When blows come thick, and arrows fly,
When the soldier marches o'er
The crimson field, knee-deep in gore,
By carnage, and grim death, surrounded,
And groans of dying men confounded;—
If the warlike drum he hear,
And the shrill trumpet strike his ear.
Roused by the spirit-stirring tones,
Music's influence he owns;
His lusty heart beats quick, and high;
War has still its melody.
But, when the hard fought day is done,
And the battle's fairly won;
Oh! then he trolls the jolly note,
In triumph, thro' his rusty throat;
And all the story of the strife
He carols to the merry fife.
His comrades join, their feats to tell;
The chorus then begins to swell;
Loud martial music rends the sky:
This is the soldier's melody.