Prithee, SoldierOh prithee, soldier, ere ye march to war,Remember dauntless she whose love you cleaveUpon the lea or in the fallow moor,Where'ere to ye the Soldier's Shilling leaves.For I am she awaiting, she and I.We think of thee in battle, siege, and dearth,And dream to hark thy brazen battle cry,Feel bucklers clash and taste the blood-soaked earth.And shall the cleric come in doleful blackWhile dirges knell, the soldier's only pall?"The arbiter of life hast called him back,And ne'ermore shalt thy soldier come to call."Depart my soldier, purge the hoards with flame,But deign to leave thine dulcet not the same.