When on the fervid air there came A strain, now rich, now tender; The music seemed itself aflame With day's departing splendor. A Federal band, which, eve and morn, Down flocked the soldiers to the banks; One wooded shore was blue with "Yanks," Then all was still; and then the band, The conscious stream, with burnished glow, Again a pause; and then again The trumpets pealed sonorous, And "Yankee Doodle" was the strain The laughing ripple shoreward flew Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue Defiance to the Rebels. And yet once more the bugles rang Above the stormy riot; No shout upon the evening rang There reigned a holy quiet. The sad, slow stream, its noiseless flood All silent stood the Rebels. No unresponsive soul had heard Or Blue or Gray, the soldier sees, As by the wand of fairy, The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees, Or cold or warm, his native skies As fades the iris after rain In April's tearful weather, But Memory, waked by Music's art, And fair the form of Music shines- Who still, 'mid War's embattled lines, Gave this one touch of Nature. John Reuben Thompson [1823-1873] Larry an' Barry an' me; Nothin' to see but the sky an' the plain, Nothin' to see but the painted Sioux, "Cheers for the Greys!" yells Barry; All alone on the hillside Larry an' Barry an' me; Flat on our bellies, an' pourin' in lead- Larry beside him, as white as death; Indians galloping, galloping by, Wheelin' and squealin' like hawks in the sky! "Cheers for the Greys!" yells Barry; "Second Dragoons!" groans Larry; Hurrah! hurrah! for Egan's Grey Troop! Whoop! ye divils—ye've got to whoop; Cheer for the troopers who die: sez I"Cheer for the troop that never shall die!" All alone on the hillside Larry an' Barry an' me; Two of us livin' and one of us dead Shot in the head, and God!-how he bled! "Larry's done up," sez Barry to me; "Divvy his cartridges! Quick! gimme three!" While nearer an' nearer an' plainer in view, Galloped an' galloped the murderin' Sioux. Cheers for the Greys!" yells Barry; "Cheer-" an' he falls on Larry. Alas! alas! for Egan's Grey Troop! The Red Sioux, hovering stoop to swoop; Two out of three lay dead, while I Cheered for the troop that never shall die. All alone on the hillside Larry an' Barry an' me; An' I fired an' yelled till I lost my head, I stumbled and fell. Then over the hill There floated a trumpeter's silvery call, An' Egan's Grey Troop galloped up, that's all. Drink to the Greys,-an' Barry! Here's a bumper to Egan's Grey Troop! Let the crape on the guidons droop; DANNY DEEVER “WHAT are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade. "To turn you out, to turn you out," the Color-Sergeant said. "What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on Parade. "I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Color-Sergeant said. For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can 'ear the Dead March play, The regiment's in 'ollow square-they're hangin' him to-day; They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away, An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. "What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Fileson-Parade. "It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Color-Sergeant said. "What makes that front-rank man fall down?" says Fileson-Parade. "A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Color-Sergeant said. They're hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round, They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground; An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'! "Is cot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on-Parade. "'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Color-Sergeant said. "I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times," said Files-on-Parade. "'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Color-Sergeant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 'is place, For 'e shot a comrade sleepin'-you must look 'im in the face; Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace, "What's that so black agin the sun?" said Files-on-Parade. "It's Danny fightin' 'ard fur life," the Color-Sergeant said. "What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files-onParade. "It's Danny's soul that's passin' now," the Color-Sergeant said. For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play, The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away; Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day, After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. Rudyard Kipling [1865 GUNGA DIN You may talk o' gin an' beer When you're quartered safe out 'ere, An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it; |