Walter Scott

“ Fairy strains of music fall,
⁠Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more:
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking. ”

“ Stanzas from "The Pirate."
AND you shall deal the funeral dole;
⁠Ay, deal it, mother mine,
To weary body, and to heavy soul,
⁠The white bread and the wine
And you shall deal my horses of pride ”