Cavalry Song

THE squadron is forming, the war-bugles play.
To saddle, brave comrades, stout hearts for a fray !
Our captain is mounted, — strike spurs, and away !
No breeze shakes the blossoms or tosses the grain ;
But the wind of our speed floats the galloper’s mane,
As he feels the hold rider’s firm hand on the rein.
Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents appear !
Ride softly ! ride slowly ! the onset is near !
More slowly ! more softly ! the sentry may hear !
Now fall on the Rebel — a tempest of flame !
Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame!
Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!
Hurrah ! sheathe your swords ! the carnage is done.
All red with our valor, we welcome the sun.
Up, up with the stars ! we have won ! we have won !