When Honour bade her sons bear arms,
And boldly meet their country's foe,
I saw in vain fair Sally's charms,
Adown whose cheeks the tears did flow;
And wearied with the rural life,
The russet hill and flowery dale,
Won by the drum and sprightly fife,
Elate I left my native vale.

The toils of war long time I brav'd,
Of danger still I bore a share,
And many a foe this arm hath sav'd,
For man may conquer, yet should spare.
Such scenes of carnage pall'd my mind;
Soon Britain's coast I long'd to hail,
And thought of joys I left behind,
When Fancy sought my native vale.

Oft have I pray'd that war would cease,
When bleeding brethren clad the plain,
And soon the tidings of sweet Peace
Brought toil--worn warriors home again.
Discharg'd, dread war a while forgot,
Fair Sally soon I hop'd to hail,
And onward trudg'd towards her cot,
O'erjoy'd to view my native vale.

I pass'd the oak, beneath whose shade,
I of fair Sally took my leave;
I pass'd the grove where, with the maid,
The happy hours were spent at eve;
I pass'd the village church--but wept,
And trembling read the plain--told tale,
That underneath fair Sally slept,
For one who left his native vale.