Ragged Heroes

I also could with rythm and rhyme

My poems clothe and deck them out,
Just as a dandy it behooves

To dress for some gay ball or rout.

But then these cherished thoughts of mine
Are not like fashion's idle toys,

Who find, beperfumed and begloved,
In fancy garb their chief est joys.

The clash -of swords, the cannon's roll
Have died in rust; a war begun

Is now without a musket waged —
But with ideas shall be won.

I, too, the gallant ranks have joined,
And with my age am sworn to fight,

Have in command a stalwart troop,
Each song of mine a valiant knight.

My men, 'tis true, are clad in rags,
But each of them is brave and bold;

We gauge the soldier not by dress
But by his deeds of valor bold.

I never question if my songs .

Will live beyond me; 'tis but naught
To me; if they are doomed to die
They fall at least where they have fought.

Even then the book shall hallowed be
Wherein my thoughts lie buried deep;
For 'tis the heroes' burial place

Who for the sake of freedom sleep.