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Some words have been left out in the poem below. First, read the poem. Then, fill in the missing words on listening to the reading or the recording of it in full. You may listen again, if required.
John Scott (1731–83)
I hate that drum’s Discordant sound, Parading round, and round, and round:
To thoughtless vouth it pleasure yields, And lures from cities and from fields,
sell their liberty for charms
Of tawdry lace, and glittering arms;
And when Ambitions voice commands,
To march, and fight, and fall, in foreign lands.
I hate that drum’s discordant sound, Parading round, and round, and round;
To me it talks of ravaged plains, And burning towns, and ruin’d swains,
And all that Misery’s hand bestows, To fill the catalogue of human woes.
Adieu to a Soldier!
ADIEU, O soldier!
You of the rude campaigning, (which we shared,)
The rapid march, the life of the camp,
The hot contention of opposing fronts–the long manoeuver,
Red battles with their slaughter,–the stimulus–the strong, terrific game,
Spell of all brave and manly hearts–the trains of Time through you,
and like of you, all fill’d,
With war, and war’s expression.
Adieu, dear comrade!
Your mission is fulfill’d–but I, more warlike,
Myself, and this contentious soul of mine,
Still on our own campaigning bound,
Through untried roads, with ambushes, opponents lined,
Through many a sharp defeat and many a crisis–often baffled,
Here marching, ever marching on, a war fight out–aye here,
To fiercer, weightier battles give expression.
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