And paid them back with lead for lead.
The battle-shout, the dying groan,
The hatchet’s crash, the rifle’s tone,
Mixed with the wounded’s painful moan.
Full many a stout heart bounding light,
Full many a dark eye beaming bright,
Were still’d in death and closed in night.
I was not idle through the fray;
But there was one alone that day
I had a fierce desire to slay.