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