With a tear for the foe
In the battle laid low,
He sheds not till victory his valor hath crown’d;
With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,
A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.
In his wild bivouac,
With his cup and his sack,
His sweetheart remember’d with heart, and with soul;
To beauty a fill,
And a cheer with a will,