ABSTRACT
The elegy of a subaltern while serving at Freneida: ‘Ye fat citizens of London town Who roll in coaches and who sleep on down Turn here your eyes and give a pitying stare Come and behold how we lank warriors fare, But see the crimson coat seamed o’er with stitches The torn degenerate regimental breeches. I can no more, the lamp’s last fading ray Reminds me of parade, ere break of day, Where shivering I must strut, though bleak the morning, Roused by the noisy drummer’s hateful warning. Come then my boat cloak let me wrap thee round And snore in concert stretched upon the ground. Haste the blest night when sleep shall sink this frame In fields of feathers, not in fields of fame.’ (Published in the United Services Magazine 1829.)
