Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare O'er.

The Way Was Long, The Wind Was Cold, The Minstrel Was Infirm And Old; His Withered Cheek, And Tresses Gray, Seemed To Have Know A Better Day.

Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare O'er, Sleep The Sleep That Knows Not Breaking, Dream Of Battled Fields No More. Days Of Danger, Nights Of Waking.

Methinks I Will Not Die Quite Happy Without Having Seen Something Of That Rome Of Which I Have Read So Much.

Breathes There The Man With Soul So Dead, Who Never To Himself Hath Said, This Is My Own, My Native Land.

Her Blue Eyes Sought The West Afar, For Lovers Love The Western Star.