The Gallant Soldier

H.DE MARSAN, Publisher, Songs, ballads, toy books, &c. [?] Chatham Street, N.Y.

The Gallant Soldier.

When war-drums beat and cannons rattle, sage and sire
stories tell;
The gallant soldier then goes to battle; he glories in
both shot and shell;
If he falls, he dies in glory; if he lives, he’ll wear a crown
Of the finest laurel wreathing, and a name of high renown.

Let no one then despise the soldier, mark the term, understand:
No one has a heart more bolder, he’s bone and sinew of the land;
On he’ll go to the field of battle, death or danger he does not
Fear;
Against the foe, to save his Country, in martial garb he
will appear.

Hark! I hear the trumpet sounding in the distance: see
what’s there:
All is hubbub and confusion; see the soldiers, front and rear:
See the heights beyond the river, and the valley just below:
And our Union-men, going thither, with their gleaming
sabres glow.

Now ensues the doubtful battle, every inch disputed well;
Amidst the clouds of smoke and fire, many a youth unnoticed fell;
Down runs the blood as fast as water, gushing from a rock or dell.
Dreadful, dreadful was the slaughter! the death-wing’d
bullet proudly tell.

The shouts and cries of bleeding soldiers there would pierce
a heart of stone:
Some calling to the Lord for mercy, others mangled flesh and bone,
Then, oh! dear Lord! look down with pity on this state of
things below,
And check that dreadful monster, envy, that caused such
sacred blood to flow.

What demon-fiend of malediction wrought such evils in our land,
When all was pleasure, peace, and plenty work and wages
for each man!
But, oh! alas! the sad affliction! all is grief and sorrow here:
See the father, sister, mother and the widow all in tears!

Many a City left forlorn with the grass growing on the street,
And many a widow left to mourn, with her orphans at her feet,
Many a Brave and Gallant soldier, from his wife, his friends,
and all,
Fell a victim, in the battle, to some shell or cannon-ball!

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