The Broken Mug.
223
Relic, it was, of joyous hours.
- Whose golden memories still allure —
- Whose golden memories still allure —
When coffee made of rye we drank,
- And gray was all the dress we wore;
- And gray was all the dress we wore;
When we were paid some cents a month.
- But never asked for more!
- 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!
- 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.
- Was all they asked—no more.
From the Rapidan to Gettysburg —
- "Hard bread " behind, "sour krout" before—
- "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!
- 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!
- 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.
- 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.
- When others were no more.