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Rh With nothing to show to devise from its idle years,

Nor houses nor lands, nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends,

Yet certain remembrances of the war for you, and after you,

And little souvenirs of camps and soldiers, with my love,

I bind together and bequeath in this bundle of songs. 







alone those camps of white, old comrades of the wars,

When as order'd forward, after a long march,

Footsore and weary, soon as the light lessens we halt for the night,

Some of us so fatigued carrying the gun and knapsack, dropping asleep in our tracks,

Others pitching the little tents, and the fires lit up begin to sparkle, 