PROMOTED!
Reading edition
'You will not bid me stay!' he said, 'She calls for me—my native land! And stay? ah, better to be dead! A coward dare not ask your hand! 'My crimson sash you'll tie for me, My belted sword you'll fasten, love! I swear to both I'll faithful be, To these below! to God above! 'And if, perchance, my sword shall win A laurel wreath to crown your name, He will not count it as my sin, That I for you have prayed for fame!'
His name rings thro' his native land, His sword has won the hero's prize; Why comes he not to ask her hand? Dead on the battle field he lies.