Classic Poem

The band was playin' " Dixie " when he marched, marched away;
An' never any likelier lad stepped time to it that day;
" The finest fellow of 'em all! " I heard the town-folk say.
The band was playin' " Dixie " as he marched — marched away.

How fast my wild arms held him — my boy, who would not stay —
The likeliest lad that answered to the captain's call that day!
" The finest fellow of 'em all! " An' in the red array
Of flags that rippled over them they marched my lad away!

But a mother's fears, and prayers, and tears are nothing. War must slay,
And the draped, deep drums were muffled as they brought him home that day:
" The finest fellow of 'em all! " I heard the town-folk say.
And his mother bendin' over him — dead at her feet that day!