The Soldier’s Bride

Young Delia once, a soldier’s bride,
Assumed the soldier’s garb;
But yet not her’s the warrior’s stride,
Nor hers the snaffled barb;
A cap and feather graced her brow,
Her form the Highland plaid;
In vaine–her voice, so faint and low,
The trembling fair betrayed.

This distant camp her Henry sought,
His country’s foes t’engage,–
Why cannot I, delightful though!
She cried, be Henry’s page?
Love urged the fond deceit, and Love
First, too, belied the maid,–
The dimpled smile, and chamois glove,
The trembling fair betrayed.

Now, bolder grown, she moved along,
All fled Love’s sighs and tears;
Unscared, beheld the marial throng,
Nor dreamed of furture fears;
Yet oft, to arms and camps unused,
She sought the woodland glade,
Whilst o’er her cheek the blush suffused,
The trembling fair betrayed.

And now, as page, her Henry’s tent
And arms ’twas hers to guard,
As he, with toil and danger spent,
For soft repose prepared:
With firm and measured step she pace,
Nor asked Minerva’s aid;
But still the foot and taper waist
The trembling fair betrayed.

An now, as page, her Henry’s tent
And arms ’twas hers to guard,
As he, with toil and danger spent,
For soft repose prepared:
With firm and measured step she pace,
Nor asked Minerva’s aid;
But still the foot and taper waist
The trembling fair betrayed.

But, hark! the trumpet sounds from far,
The hostile legions shout–
Forth from its sheath, to meet the war,
The glittering sword leaps out;
Where now her warrior step, where now
Her look, of nought afraid?
Her pallid cheek and hectic brow
The trembling fair betrayed.

The legions join, the battle burns,
Now these, now those prevail,
And many a shriek and shout, by turns,
Swell on the vesper gale;

But who is he that stands alone?
I ken his Highland blade;
He lives! she cried, and Love’s fond tone
The trembling fair betrayed.