OLD SOLDIER
Now, from the Field I'm fin'ly sent
And view my Soldiers, sick with Woe
My Fame and Fortune all are spent!
I cannot tell you where it went,
Nor how it did so swiftly go:
Now, from the Field I'm fin'ly sent...
My Fury, it will not relent,
Yet I cannot find aught to throw;
My Fame and Fortune all are spent!
I cannot e'en afford my rent!
What next transpires, I do not know.
Now, from the Field, I'm fin'ly sent...
From Brussels to Bruges, then on to Ghent,
I tread, forlorn, in knee-deep Snow--
My Fame and Fortune all are spent.
God seeks, I think, that I repent--
'til then, His Wrath will o'er me blow.
Now, from the Field, I'm fin'ly sent:
My Fame and Fortune All are spent!
March 6, 2009, 3:20 am