It was just before the last fierce fight
Two soldiers drew their rein
With a parting word and a touch of the hand,
They might never meet again.
One had blue eyes and curly hair,
Red on his cheek, down on his chin,
He was only a boy you know
The other was tall and dark and proud,
His face in this world was dim
He only trusted the more to those,
Who was all the world to him.
They had ridden together for many a mile.
They had been through many a fight.
And always til now had met the foe
With a calm and a hopeful smile.
But now they looked in each other’s face
With an awful ghastly gloom.
The tall dark man was the first to speak,
Saying, ‘Charlie my hour has come.
We will ride together up the hill.
But you will ride back alone.
A little trouble I pray you to take
For me when I am gone.
I have a fair fond face upon my breast.
I’ll wear it into the fight
With bright blue eyes and curly hair
And a smile like the morning light.
Like the morning light
Was her smile to me,
For it gladdened a lonely life.
But little cared I for the farewell look
When she promised to be my wife.
Oh write to her Charlie when I am gone.
Send back the fair fond face.
Oh write to her tenderly what I have said and tell her my resting place.
Tell her my soul will wait for hers,
In the borderland between earth and heaven until she comes
It will not be long. I dream.
Tears dimmed the blue eyes of the boy, his voice was low with pain.
“I will do your bidding, Comrade mine, if I ride back again.
But if you ride back, and I’m gone, You must do as much for me.
For mother at home must hear the news, so write to her tenderly.
One after another and those she loved. She buried both husband and son.
I was the last when my country called.
She kissed me and sent me on.
She’s praying at home like a waiting saint, her fond heart filled with woe.
Her heart will be broken when I am gone. I’ll see her soon, I know.”
Just then the orders came to CHARGE.
For an instant hand touched hand.
And on they marched, that brave devoted bamd.
They rode til they came to the crest of the hill,
Where the rebels with shot and shell
Poured death and destruction in the toiling ranks
And pierced them as they fell.
And among the dead that lay on the ground
Was the boy with the curly hair.
And the tall dark man that rode at his side, lay dead beside him there.
There’s no one to write to the blue eyed girl, the words that her lover had said,
And the mother at home will only know that the boy that she loved was dead.