Eighty and nine, with their captain,
Rode on the enemy’s track.
Rode in the gray of the morning--
Nine of the ninety came back.
Slow rose the mist from the river,
Lighter each moment the way;
Careless and tearless and fearless
Galloped they on to the fray.
Singing in tune, how the scabbards
Loud on the stirrup-irons rang!
Clinked as the men rose in saddle,
Fell, as they sank, with a clang.
What is it moves by the river,
Jaded, and weary, and weak?
Graybacks,--a cross on their banner,--
Yonder the foe whom they seek.
Silence! they see not, they hear not,
Tarrying there by the marge;
_Forward! draw sabre! trot! gallop!_
_Charge!_ like a hurricane--_Charge!_
Ah, ’twas a man-trap infernal!--
Fire like the deep pit of hell!
Volley on volley to meet them,
Mixed with the gray rebels’ yell.
Ninety had ridden to battle,
Tracing the enemy’s track,--
Ninety had ridden to battle;
Nine of the ninety came back.
Honor the name of the ninety!
Honor the heroes who came
Scathless from five hundred muskets,
Safe from the lead-bearing flame!
Eighty and one of the troopers
Lie on the field of the slain,--
Lie on the red field of honor;
Honor the nine who remain!
Cold are the dead there, and gory,
There where their life-blood was spilt;
Back come the living, each sabre
Red from the point to the hilt.
Up with three cheers and a “tiger!”
Let the flags wave as they come!
Give them the blare of the trumpet!
Give them the roll of the drum!