| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
Buena Vista Battlefield |
||
|
" My mother's form is with me now, Her will is in my ear, And drop by drop as flows my blood So flows from her the tear. And oh, when you shall tell to her The tidings of this day, Speak softly, comrade, softly speak What you may have to say.
11 Speak not to her in blighting words The blighting news you bear, The cords of life might snap too soon, So, comrade, have a care. I am her only, cherished child, But tell her that I died Rejoicing that she taught me young To take my country's side.
" But, comrade, there's one more, She's gentle as a fawn; She lives upon the sloping hill That overlooks the lawn, The lawn where I shall never more Go forth with her in merry mood To gather wild-wood flowers.
" Tell her when death was on my brow And life receding fast, Her looks, her form was with me then, Were with me to the last. |
||
|
|
||
|
35 |
||