John Hill Hewitt - Minstrel's Returned from the War

1.
The minstrel's return'd from the war,
With spirits as body and as air;
And then on his tuneful guitar,
He sings in the bow'r of his fair,
He sings in the bow'r of his fair;
The music of the battle is over,
The bugle no more calls to arms,
A soldier no more, but a lover,
I kneel to the pow'r of thy charms!
Sweet lady, dear lady! I'm thine,
I bend to the magic of beauty
Tho' the helmet and banner are mine,
Yet love calls the soldier to duty.
2.
The Minstrel has said sweetly rest,
She's blush'd, sigh'd and laid down her head;
'Till conquered she fell on his breast,
And thus to the happy youth said;
"The bugle shall part us, love, never,
My bossom thy pillow shall be,
'Till death tears the from me forever
Still faithful, I'll perish with thee."
Sweet lady, dear lady! I'm thine,
I bend to the magic of beauty
Tho' the helmet and banner are mine,
Yet love calls the soldier to duty.
3.
But fame call'd the youth to the field,
His banner wav'd over his head;
He gave his guitar for a shield,
But soon he laid low with the dead:
While she o'er her young hero bending,
Received his aspiring adieu;
"I die while my country defending,
With my heart to my lady love true."
"Oh! death!" then she sigh'd, "I am thine,
I tear off the roses of beauty,
For the grave of my hero is mine,
He died true to love and to duty!"