|
She was just a blue eyed Boston girl |
|
Her voice was low with pain |
|
I'll do your bidding comrade mine |
|
If I ride back again |
|
But if you ride back and I am dead |
|
You'll do as much for me |
|
Mother, you know, must hear the news |
|
So write her tenderly |
|
She's awaiting at home like a patient saint |
|
Her fallen face paled with woe |
|
Her heart would be broken when I am gone |
|
I'll see her soon, I know |
|
Just then the order came to charge |
|
For an instant hand touched hand |
|
They said, aye and away they rode |
|
That brave and devoted band |
|
Straight was the course to the top of the hill |
|
And the rebels they shot and shelled |
|
Plowed furrows of death through the toiling ranks |
|
And guarded them as they fell |
|
There soon was a horrible dying yell |
|
From heights that they could not gain |
|
And those who doom and death had spared |
|
Rode slowly back again |
|
But among the dead that were left on the hill |
|
Was the girl with the curly hair |
|
The tall dark man who'd fought by her side |
|
Lay dead beside her there |
|
There was was no one to write the green-eyed girl |
|
The words that her lover had said |
|
While mother at home is awaiting her girl |
|
She'll only know she is dead |
|
She'll only know she's dead |
|
She'll only know she's dead |
