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Poem by Walter Scott
Soldier, wake Ч the day is peeping, Honour ne'er was won in sleeping, Never when the sunbeams still Lay unreflected on the hill: 'Tis when they are glinted back From axe and armour, spear and jack, That they promise future story Many a page of deathless glory. Shields that are the foe man's terror, Ever are the morning's mirror. Arm and up Ч the morning beam Hath call'd the rustic to his team, Hath call'd the falc'ner to the lake, Hath call'd the huntsman to the brake; The early student ponders o'er His dusty tomes of ancient lore. Soldier, wake Ч thy harvest, fame; Thy study, conquest; war, thy game. Shield, that would be foeman's terror, Still should gleam the morning's mirror. Poor hire repays the rustic's pain; More paltry still the sportsman's gain; Vainest of all, the student's theme End in gome metaphysic dream. Yet each is up, and each has toil'd Since first the peep of dawn has smiled; And each is eagerer in his aim Than he who barters life for fame. Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror! Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror.
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