Page:Southern Historical Society Papers volume 14.djvu/229

 Rh Relic, it was, of joyous hours.
 * Whose golden memories still allure —

When coffee made of rye we drank,
 * And gray was all the dress we wore;

When we were paid some cents a month.
 * But never asked for more!

In marches long, by day and night,
 * In raids, hot charges, shocks of war,

Strapped on the saddle at my back
 * This faithful comrade still I bore—
 * This old companion, true and tried
 * I'll never carry more!

Bright days, when young in heart and hope
 * The pulse leaped at the words "La Gloire!"
 * When the gray people cried, "hot fight!
 * Why we have one to four!"

When but to see the foeman's face
 * Was all they asked—no more.

From the Rapidan to Gettysburg —
 * "Hard bread " behind, "sour krout" before—

This friend went with the cavalry
 * And heard the jarring cannon roar
 * In front of Cemetery Hill—
 * Good heavens! how they did roar!

Then back again, the foe behind,
 * Back to the "Old Virginia shore"—

Some dead and wounded left—some holes
 * In flags the sullen graybacks bore;
 * This mug had made the great campaign.
 * And we'd have gone once more!

Alas! we never went again!
 * The red cross banner, slow but sure,

"Fell back"—we bade to sour krout
 * (Like the lover of Lenore)
 * A long, sad, lingering farewell—
 * To taste its joys no more.

But still we fought, and ate hard bread.
 * Or starved—good friend our woes deplore!

And still this faithful friend remained
 * Riding behind me as before—
 * The friend on march, in bivouac,
 * When others were no more.