No thought had we to die asunder,
Companions sworn, a brother throng;
We looked to sweep through battle's thunder
In noble lines, a thousand strong.
But ah, the fever's poisoned arrow!
The jungle's breath, the summer's glow!
Our broad array grew swiftly narrow,
And scanty hundreds met the foe.
O splendid longings, thoughts and fancies
Which tread the city of the soul,