"Reveille" Between three and four pf a morning We soldiers must be marching Up and down the street. Tral-la-li, My sweetheart is looking on. Ah brothers, my brothers, I am hit, The bullet has wounded me sorely. Carry me back to the camp. Tral-la-li, It is not far off. Brother, my brother, I can not carry you there. The enemy has beaten us. May dear God help you! Tral-la-li, I must march on to my death. Ah brothers, brothers, you pass me by As though my last hour had come. Tral-la-li, You tread too closely where I lie. I must up and beat my drum. Tral-la-li, Or else I am lost for ever. Tral-la-li, The brothers all lay thick on the ground like mown grass. He beat his drum high and low. He woke his silent brothers. Tral-la-li, They put the enemy to fight. Tral-la-li, A great terror overcame the foe. High and low he beat his drum. Soon they are all back at the camp. Tral-la-li, Along the street as clear as day They marched to his sweetheart's house. Tral-la-li, There in the morning light lay their bones, Row upon row, skeleton limbs. At their head was the drummer-boy That she might see him there. Tral-la-li. -- if music be the food of love, tho' yet the treat is only sound. Sure I must perish by your charms, unless you save me in your arms. ---- Heveningham/Weichin Chen --

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