VIII.
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oldier from the wars returning,Spoiler of the taken town,Here is ease that asks not earning;Turn you in and sit you down. Peace is come and wars are over,Welcome you and welcome all,While the charger crops the cloverAnd his bridle hangs in stall. Now no more of winters biting,Filth in trench from fall to spring,Summers full of sweat and fightingFor the Kesar or the King. Rest you, charger, rust you, bridle;Kings and kesars, keep your pay;Soldier, sit you down and idleAt the inn of night for aye.
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