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THE RETURN OF THE REGIMENT.
Cheered by many a nod and smile
From thousands as they passed by,
Fresh in their unstained uniform,
Eyes all hopeful and hearts all warm,
They went to meet the Southern storm,
To triumph—or to die.
From thousands as they passed by,
Fresh in their unstained uniform,
Eyes all hopeful and hearts all warm,
They went to meet the Southern storm,
To triumph—or to die.
Fourteen months have passed since then,—
Fourteen mouths, and battles ten,—
The men are old, and the boys are men,
Grown grave before their time;
And in their features the gazer sees
The bitter wisdom of times like these,
The sharply-cut experiences
Which make men's lives sublime.
Fourteen mouths, and battles ten,—
The men are old, and the boys are men,
Grown grave before their time;
And in their features the gazer sees
The bitter wisdom of times like these,
The sharply-cut experiences
Which make men's lives sublime.
Mute and strange are their faces all;
Nothing less than a battle-call,
With boom of cannon and shriek of ball,
Could shake their even breath;
Written in every line and curve
Are tales of courage and iron nerve,—
Of fire-tried hearts that never swerve
From danger or from death.
Nothing less than a battle-call,
With boom of cannon and shriek of ball,
Could shake their even breath;
Written in every line and curve
Are tales of courage and iron nerve,—
Of fire-tried hearts that never swerve
From danger or from death.
