THE SCOUT-1864.
As I ride with a keen lookout through the town, In the wind of the autumn blowing free, You lean from yonr opon window down, And I raise my face to your own, che'rie ! . I press my lips to the rose in your hair, And wish it was one of the two on your face ; If I were up in that window there, Would you give me a last embrace? I have been rather sad. I dreamed of a day . (How the wind of the autumn is blowing free !) When the rattle of sabres w^uld pass away, And the winds would whisper to you and me That love is the best, whatever betide, And the journey of life, made hand in hand, Is a path of flowers ; but the dream soon died In tho dir of this war-curst land. This very moment I catch the beat, On tho wind of the autumn blowing free, Of a squadron passing with muffled feet By tho mill, vho are hunting me. If they rind me— a shot !— l am wounded sweet ! One touch of the roses so fair to see ; If they drag ma in to die at your feet, You must kiss ma again, cherio ! — J. Eaten Cooke in Bivouac.
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Waikato Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2221, 2 October 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)
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210THE SCOUT-1864. Waikato Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2221, 2 October 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)
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