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poems.
35
THE DYING VOLUNTEER.
Kiss me once more, dear mother,
Ere the light of day has fled;
When this brave young form is cold,
And you gaze upon me dead.

I have fallen for my country,—
'Tis to her I give my life,—
For the Southern chain did gall us,
And brought on this deadly strife.

Hark! upon the distant hill-side
Methinks I hear the cannon's sound!
And I see the dark red life-stream
Trickling slowly to the ground.

Hark! I hear the captains shouting
"Onward! onward! men so true;"
And now along the steeps they're rushing
Bravely on—those "boys in blue."

Mother, I see them swing their caps,
As they meet the rebel hordes;