A SOLDIER’S THE LAD FOR ME.

———

BY A. M‘MAKIN.

———

There’s a charm in the fame

Of a soldier’s name,

With his colors so gay, and his spirits so light;

At his bold command,

No lass in the land,

Can withhold from his prowess her smile so bright,—

With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,

A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.

At fete or at ball

He is courted by all;

His step is the lightest that trips in the dance,

With his sword on his thigh,

And a smile in his eye,

Each belle doth acknowledge his bow and his glance,

With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,

A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.

When there’s mischief to pay,

He is first in the fray,

Nor blanches when death-shots are falling around,

With a tear for the foe

In the battle laid low,

He sheds not till victory his valor hath crown’d;

With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,

A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.

In his wild bivouac,

With his cup and his sack,

His sweetheart remember’d with heart, and with soul;

To beauty a fill,

And a cheer with a will,

While each comrade to friendship is passing the bowl.

With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,

A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.

Philadelphia, December 20, 1840.