With her I left behind me.
BEAUMONT’s LIGHT HORSE.
We march’d from the camps with our hearts full of woe,
On board of the transports we forc’d were to go;
No drums they did beat, nor no trumpets did sound,
In silence and sadness we trudg’d o’er the ground.
No more on our horses we’ll prance o’er the plain,
For they drive us away like sheep to be slain;