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Then ranged our cannons to the breach
With haughty purpose, each to each,
And silent still we stood for speech,
Till Rosy rode along the line.
Uprose our gunners, grim and bare,
To light the torch of victory there!
Now close the charging foemen surge,
To mock the awful lightning's verge;
Down to the front our leader darts--
“Aim low! aim low! my flinty hearts!”
And soon about the colors true
Our drummer beats his wild tattoo!
Then but to see the chieftain's look;
The word he gave — that word we took--
“Give them a blizzard!” Lord, it shook!
As Rosy rode along the line.
Back rolled the flood, and in its track
We drove their quailing legions back;
As horse and foot we followed on,
With bloody cost the day was won!
Then homeward Rosy took his course,
Our wounded drummer on his horse;
“Well done!” said he; “well done, brave men,
Please God, we'll do as well again.”
Then marched we in with three times three
For Murfreesboro, the victory.
Ah! 'twas a sight for men to see,
When Rosy rode along the line.
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