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 | War poets of the South and Confederate camp-fire songs. |  |
THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY,
(Air: "The boy with the auburn hair.")
Bob Roeback is my sweetheart's name,
He's off to the wars and gone;
He's fighting for his Nannie dear,
His sword is buckled on;
He's fighting for his own true love,
His foes he does defy;
He is the darling of my heart,
My Southern soldier boy.
Chorus. Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
He is my only joy,
He is the darling of my heart,
My Southern soldier boy.
He's off to the wars and gone;
He's fighting for his Nannie dear,
His sword is buckled on;
He's fighting for his own true love,
His foes he does defy;
He is the darling of my heart,
My Southern soldier boy.
Chorus. Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
He is my only joy,
He is the darling of my heart,
My Southern soldier boy.
When Bob comes home from war's alarms,
We start anew in life,
I'll give myself right up to him,
A dutiful, loving wife;
I'll try my best to please my dear,
For he is my only joy,
He is the darling of my heart,
My Southern soldier boy.
Chorus. Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! etc.
We start anew in life,
I'll give myself right up to him,
A dutiful, loving wife;
I'll try my best to please my dear,
For he is my only joy,
He is the darling of my heart,
My Southern soldier boy.
Chorus. Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! etc.
Oh! if in battle he were slain,
I am sure that I should die;
But I am sure he'll come again,
And cheer my weeping eye;
But should he fall in this our cause,
He still would be my joy,
For many a sweetheart mourns the loss
Of a Southern soldier boy.
Chorus. Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! etc—
I am sure that I should die;
But I am sure he'll come again,
And cheer my weeping eye;
But should he fall in this our cause,
He still would be my joy,
For many a sweetheart mourns the loss
Of a Southern soldier boy.
Chorus. Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! etc—
163
I hope for the best, and so do all
Whose hopes are in the field;
I know that we shall win the day,
For Southrons never yield;
And when we think of those that are away,
We'll look above for joy;
And I'm mighty glad my Bobby is
A Southern soldier boy.
Chorus. Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! etc.
Whose hopes are in the field;
I know that we shall win the day,
For Southrons never yield;
And when we think of those that are away,
We'll look above for joy;
And I'm mighty glad my Bobby is
A Southern soldier boy.
Chorus. Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! etc.
| War poets of the South and Confederate camp-fire songs. | |