“Soldier sleep— Drum—drum! Soldier, rest— Drum—drum! In the breast of the earth whence we come, We come! All your toil Is done, And the fight Is won. Soldier, sleep—Soldier, rest!” says the drum, “Drum—drum!”
And this is the song, as we march along, That the hollow drum sings to the gathering throng; With the rap, and the tap, and the rolling beat, With the sound on the ground of the tramp of feet, Keeping step they come, With the sounding drum, With the rolling and the beating of the drum. I. E. Diekenga
THE BRAVEST BOY IN TOWN.
He lived in the Cumberland Valley, And his name was Jamie Brown; But it changed one day, so the neighbors say, To the “Bravest Boy in Town.”
’Twas the time when the Southern soldiers, Under Early’s mad command, O’er the border made their dashing raid From the north of Maryland;
And Chambersburg, unransomed, In smouldering ruins slept; While up the vale, like a fiery gale, The rebel raiders swept.
And a squad of gray-clad horsemen Came thundering o’er the bridge, Where peaceful cows in the meadows browse At the foot of the great Blue Ridge;
And on till they reached the village That fair in the valley lay, Defenceless then—for its loyal men At the front were far away.
“Pillage and spoil and plunder!” This was the fearful word That the Widow Brown, in gazing down From her latticed window, heard.