Who? My wife Gertrude, that, honest and gay, Laughs when you talk of surrendering, “Nay! I've better counsellors; what counsel they? Cho.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" Robert Browning [1812-1889] THE SONG OF THE CAMP "GIVE us a song!" the soldiers cried, The dark Redan, in silent scoff, Lay, grim and threatening, under; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff No longer belched its thunder. There was a pause. A guardsman said, "We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow." They lay along the battery's side, Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, They sang of love, and not of fame; Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang "Annie Laurie." Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem, rich and strong, Their battle-eve confession. Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, Washed off the stains of powder. Beyond the darkening ocean burned And once again a fire of hell Rained on the Russian quarters, And Irish Nora's eyes are dim Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest Bayard Taylor [1825-1878] REVEILLE THE morning is cheery, my boys, arouse! The dew shines bright on the chestnut boughs, Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes. O'er field and wood and brake, With glories newly born, Comes on the blushing morn. Awake! awake! You have dreamed of your homes and friends all night; Turn out! turn out! turn out! You have dreamed full long, I know. Turn out! turn out! turn out! The east is all aglow. Turn out! turn out! From every valley and hill there come Every man in his place, Each with a cheerful face, Fall in! fall in! Michael O'Connor [1837-1862] "I GIVE MY SOLDIER BOY A BLADE" I GIVE my soldier boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashioned well: Who first the glittering falchion swayed, I know not; but I hope to know, To guard no feeling base or low- Cool, calm, and clear-the lucid flood In which its tempering work was done; As calm, as clear, in wind and wood, I give my soldier boy the blade! The eye which marked its peerless edge, The hand that weighed its balanced poise, Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge, Are gone with all their flame and noise; Yet still the gleaming sword remains! William Maginn [1793-1842] STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY COME, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails, We see him now-the queer slouched hat The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat, The "Blue-Light Elder" knows 'em well; Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off! Strangle the fool that dares to scoff! Attention! it's his way. Appealing from his native sod, In forma pauperis to God: "Lay bare Thine arm: stretch forth Thy rod! Amen!" That's "Stonewall's way." Steady! the whole brigade! Hill's at the ford, cut off; we'll win His way out, ball and blade! What matter if our shoes are worn? What matter if our feet are torn? "Quick step! we're with him before morn!" That's "Stonewall Jackson's way." The sun's bright lances rout the mists Pope and his Dutchmen, whipped before; Ah! Maiden, wait and watch and yearn Ah! Widow, read, with eyes that burn, Ah! Wife, sew on, pray on, hope on; John Williamson Palmer [1825-1906] MUSIC IN CAMP Two armies covered hill and plain, The summer clouds lay pitched like tents The breeze so softly blew, it made No forest leaf to quiver; And the smoke of the random cannonade Rolled slowly from the river. And now, where circling hills looked down With cannon grimly planted, O'er listless camp and silent town The golden sunset slanted. |