"Reveille"
Between three and four pf a morning
We soldiers must be marching
Up and down the street.
Tral-la-li,
My sweetheart is looking on.
Ah brothers, my brothers, I am hit,
The bullet has wounded me sorely.
Carry me back to the camp.
Tral-la-li,
It is not far off.
Brother, my brother, I can not carry you there.
The enemy has beaten us.
May dear God help you!
Tral-la-li,
I must march on to my death.
Ah brothers, brothers, you pass me by
As though my last hour had come.
Tral-la-li,
You tread too closely where I lie.
I must up and beat my drum.
Tral-la-li,
Or else I am lost for ever.
Tral-la-li,
The brothers all lay thick on the ground like mown grass.
He beat his drum high and low.
He woke his silent brothers.
Tral-la-li,
They put the enemy to fight.
Tral-la-li,
A great terror overcame the foe.
High and low he beat his drum.
Soon they are all back at the camp.
Tral-la-li,
Along the street as clear as day
They marched to his sweetheart's house.
Tral-la-li,
There in the morning light lay their bones,
Row upon row, skeleton limbs.
At their head was the drummer-boy
That she might see him there.
Tral-la-li.
--
if music be the food of love,
tho' yet the treat is only sound.
Sure I must perish by your charms,
unless you save me in your arms.
---- Heveningham/Weichin Chen
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