[The midnight march, in] The knapsack A Daily Journal of the Seventh Regiment New Armory Fair. Vol I., No. 18. Saturday, December 6, 1879 |
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 | [The midnight march, in] The knapsack |  |
THE MIDNIGHT MARCH.
All along the weary miles,
Down through the dark defiles,
Through the woods of pine and larch,
Under midnight's solemn arch,
Came the heavy sounding march
Of the Seventh!
Down through the dark defiles,
Through the woods of pine and larch,
Under midnight's solemn arch,
Came the heavy sounding march
Of the Seventh!
Scouts out on either flank,
Searching close through dyke and bank,
Sweeping with their restless eyes
Every hollow, cut and rise,
Guarding from the foe's surprise,
All the Seventh!
Searching close through dyke and bank,
Sweeping with their restless eyes
Every hollow, cut and rise,
Guarding from the foe's surprise,
All the Seventh!
Every pine-tree's jagged limb
In the black night looked grim;
And each dense thicket's shade
Seemed to hold an ambuscade:
Yet no soldier was afraid
In the Seventh!
In the black night looked grim;
And each dense thicket's shade
Seemed to hold an ambuscade:
Yet no soldier was afraid
In the Seventh!
Plod! plod! plod! plod!
Over gravel, over sod,
Over uptorn railroad tracks,
With their bending belted backs,
Waiting—hoping vain attacks,
Marched the Seventh!
Over gravel, over sod,
Over uptorn railroad tracks,
With their bending belted backs,
Waiting—hoping vain attacks,
Marched the Seventh!
“Halt! Rest!” along the line;
Down every man supine
In the wet gravel lay,
Hugging with delight the clay,
Longing for the light of day
On the Seventh!
Down every man supine
In the wet gravel lay,
Hugging with delight the clay,
Longing for the light of day
On the Seventh!
Though the dark night was serene,
Never foeman's form was seen;
Though like flies they buzzed around,
Haunting every shady ground,
Fleeing at the slightest sound,
From the Seventh!
Never foeman's form was seen;
Though like flies they buzzed around,
Haunting every shady ground,
Fleeing at the slightest sound,
From the Seventh!
So we marched till night was gone,
And the heavens were blessed with dawn;
But, History, with immortal hand,
Must yet record how firm and grand
Was that march through Maryland
Of the Seventh!
And the heavens were blessed with dawn;
But, History, with immortal hand,
Must yet record how firm and grand
Was that march through Maryland
Of the Seventh!
Camp Cameron, May 9th. 1861.
| [The midnight march, in] The knapsack | |