Fair Is The Marigold, For Pottage Meet.

The Sun Was Set; The Night Came On Apace, And Falling Dews Bewet Around The Place; The Bat Takes Airy Rounds On Leathern Wings, And The Hoarse Owl His Woeful Dirges Sings.

Is There No Hope? The Sick Man Said, The Silent Doctor Shook His Head, And Took His Leave With Signs Of Sorrow, Despairing Of His Fee To-morrow.

No Retreat. No Retreat. They Must Conquer Or Die Who've No Retreat.

So Comes A Reck'ning When The Banquet's O'er, The Dreadful Reckn'ning, And Men Smile No More.

If With Me You'd Fondly Stray Over The Hills And Far Away.