No 37 THE WHITE COCKADE

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."