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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 93 |
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DR. WILLIAM MAGINN (1794-1841)
THE SOLDIER-BOY
I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashioned well Who first the glittering falchion swayed, Who first beneath its fury fell, I know not, but I hope to know
That for no mean or hireling trade, To guard no feeling base or low, I give my soldier-boy a blade.
Cool, calm and clear, the lucid flood
In which its tempering work was done, As calm, as clear, as cool of mood,
Be thou whene'er it sees the sun : For country's claim, at honor's call,
For outraged friend, insulted maid, At mercy's voice to bid it fall,
I give my soldier-boy a blade.
The eye which marked its peerless edge,
The hand that weighed its balanced poise, Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge,
Are gone with all their flame and noise — And still the gleaming sword remains;
So, when in dust I low am laid, Remember by those heart-felt strains,
I gave my soldier-boy a blade. |
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