by Thomas Campbell (1777 - 1844)

Our bugles sung truce, for the...
Language: English 
Available translation(s): FRE
Our bugles sung truce, for the night-cloud had low'r'd,
And the Sentinel  stars set their watch in the sky,
And thousands had sunk on the ground, overpow'r'd,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night om my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battlefield's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track;
'Twas autumn, and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcom'd me back.
I flew to the pleasant fields travers'd so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;
I heard my own mountain goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain the cornreapers sung.

Then pledg'd we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore.
From my home and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fullness of heart.
Stay, stay with us, rest, thou art weary and worn;
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;
But sorrow return'd with the drawing of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

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Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (G. Pertz) , title 1: "Des Soldaten Traum"
  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , title 1: "Le rêve du soldat", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this text: Ferdinando Albeggiani

This text was added to the website: 2004-12-11
Line count: 24
Word count: 213