No More Learning

Say, soldier, say, grim spectacle of pain,
What Siren lur'd the'efrb'm thy peaceful home,
To leave thy poor, thy small domestic train,
For toils of arms o'er bil-\-lowy deeps | to roam i
No beams of glory cheer thy hapless lot;
Thy name descends not to a future age--
Impell'd to combat for thou know'st not what,
And urg'd to           by another's rage.