And love is the theme of that early dream.
So wild, so warm, so new,
That in all our after years I deem,
That early dream we rue.
Oh! there is a dream of maturer years,
More turbulent by far;
'Tis a vision of blood, and of woman's tears,
For the theme of that dream is war:
And we toil in the field of danger and death,
And shout in the battle array,