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But evening come,
He sought his home;
And anxious, lovely woman.
She hail’d the sight,
And every night
The cottage rung.
As they sung,
Oh, dulce, dulce domum.
But soon, alas! the scene of bliss
was chang’d to prospect dreary;
For war and honour rous'd each Swiss,
and Edward left his Mary,
To bold St. Gotbard’s height he rush’d,
gainst Gallia’s foes contending,
And, by unequal numbers crush’d,
he died his defending.
The evening come,
He sought not home;
Whinst she—distracted woman—
Goes wild with dread,
Now seeks him dead,
And hears the knell,
That bids farewell
To dulce, dulce domum!
