Christian Milne Poems
Comments about Christian Milne
The Wounded Soldier
WHILE tyrants sit enthron'd in state,
With trophies at their feet,
And fawning courtiers round them wait,
With adulation sweet!
Informing them in pompous strain,
Of feats atchieved in war,
That will immortalize their reign,
And spread their fame afar.
Ah! little reckon they the woe
To many thousands wrought,
Who bleed and die, to crown their brow
With laurels dearly bought!
They think not of the bitter tears
By soldiers' widows shed,
When round a helpless group appears,
Imploring them for bread.
I met this morn a beggar ...
WHILE worth and taste with generous hand entwine
A wreath to bind this humble brow of mine,
Kind ABERDONIA 's sons and daughters fair
Add each a twig or leaf with friendly care;
Nor scorn the simple works of one whose name
Has never swell'd the rolls or trump of Fame.
I'm griev'd to think, that those whose lot is thrown
Upon an equal level with my own,
Should view her now with envy, scorn, or hate,