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     Breaking their own confines,
Breaking through Longstreet's lines,
     Into the Georgia troops
Stormed the two hundred.

     Wild all their eyes did glare,
Whisked all their tails in air,
     Scatt'ring the chivalry there,
While all the world wondered.
     Not a mule back bestraddled,
Yet how they all skeddadled;
     Fled every Georgian,
Unsabred, unsaddled,
     Scattered and sundered,
How they were routed there
     By the two hundred.

     Mules to the right of them,
Mules to the left of them,
     Mules behind them
Pawed, neighed, and thundered;
     Followed by hoof and head,
Full many a hero fled,
     Fain in the last ditch dead,
Back from an “ass's jaw,”
     All that was left of them,
Left by the two hundred.

     When can their glory fade?
Oh! the wild charge they made!
     All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made;
     Honor the Mule Brigade,
Long-eared two hundred.

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