Ye The Men Of Gettysburg

A tribute to the fallen of Gettysburg.

From the Shenadoah Valley,
Rode the flag of confederates,
With a winsome shine to rally,
Abreast the proud compatriots. 

Marching from Fredericksburg,
With their canteens and rifles,
Onto the ridges of Gettysburg,
Where await'd brazen federals.

On the first day of the battle,
Came the feisty southerners,
Striving like a horde to rattle,
The mettle of keen northerners.

Like a strong whirpool bustling, 
They o'erran flanks of the north,
Sending Billy Yank skedaddling, 
To the lonesome hills of the south. 

On the second day of the battle,
The fierce fighting had rag'd wild,
At Cemetery Ridge to embattle, 
But Johnny Reb was soon ril'd.

The brave Union defend'd well, 
Amidst the Peach Orchard close, 
Amongst casualties by the hill,
Where twain armies then arose.  

On the third day of the battle, 
Pickett's charge was thwart'd,
As the south began to prattle,
Before tidings were impart'd. 

'Twas the songs of a chickadee,
Who sent off the weary Virginians,
Who then follow'd General Lee,
Amid cheers of the Minnesotans.  

Wended forth did General Meade, 
With a toilsome guise of victory, 
Amongst the hills that still bleed, 
Within the wrought fields of glory.  

Hail the migthy 19th of Indiana,
Those worthy and doughty fellows,  
Amidst the 26 of North Carolina,
Who fell yeomanly by the willows.  

'Twas a somber fourth of July,
Where no cannons were heard,
Wavering with a sad goodbye,
Upon the soldiers once fear'd.  

Behold, 'tis Abraham Lincoln,
Standing before a sullen field,
With the stars and stripes anon,
O'er yonder hill of a battlefield.