No 37 the White Cockade
C.J.S.
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1
Alas! my love’s enlisted,
He wears a white cockade,
He is as gay a gallant,
As any roving blade.
He’s gone the king a serving,
The white cockade to wear,
Whilst my poor heart is breaking,
For the love to him I bear.
2
“Leave off your grief and sorrow,
And quit this doleful strain,
The white cockade adorns me
Whilst marching o’er the plain.
When I return I’ll marry,
By this cockade I swear.
Your heart from grief must rally,
And my departure bear.”
3
“Fair maid, I bring bad tidings.”
So did the Sergeant say;
“Your love was slain in battle,
He sends you this to-day,
The white cockade he flourished
Now dabbled in his gore.
With his last kiss he sends it,
The white cockade he wore.”
4
She spoke no word—her tears,
They fell a salten flood;
And from the draggled ribbons
Washed out the stains of blood.
“O mother I am dying!
And when in grave I’m laid,
Upon my bosom, mother!
Then pin the white cockade.”