Copied by permission of WM. HALL & SON, 543 Broadway, N. Y.,
owners of the copyright.
I’m leaning o’er the gate, Annie,
’Neath the cottage wall;
The grey dawn breaks, the hour grows late,
I hear the trumpet’s call.
I could not brook thy cheek so pale,
The sad tear in thine eye,--
This heart which laughs at war might quail,
So Annie dear, good-by!
This heart which laughs at war might quail,
So Annie dear, good-by!
I’m marching with the brave, Annie!
Far from home and thee,
To win renown, perhaps a grave,
A glorious one ’twill be!
But what so e’er the fate I meet,
To conquer, or to die!
This heart’s last throb for _thee_ will beat;
So Annie dear, good-by!
This heart’s last throb for _thee_ will beat;
So Annie _dear_, good-by!