| She was just a blue eyed Boston girl
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| Her voice was low with pain
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| I’ll do your bidding comrade mine
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| If I ride back again
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| But if you ride back and I am dead
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| You’ll do as much for me
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| Mother, you know, must hear the news
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| So write her tenderly
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| She’s awaiting at home like a patient saint
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| Her fallen face paled with woe
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| Her heart would be broken when I am gone
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| I’ll see her soon, I know
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| Just then the order came to charge
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| For an instant hand touched hand
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| They said, aye and away they rode
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| That brave and devoted band
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| Straight was the course to the top of the hill
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| And the rebels they shot and shelled
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| Plowed furrows of death through the toiling ranks
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| And guarded them as they fell
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| There soon was a horrible dying yell
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| From heights that they could not gain
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| And those who doom and death had spared
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| Rode slowly back again
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| But among the dead that were left on the hill
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| Was the girl with the curly hair
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| The tall dark man who’d fought by her side
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| Lay dead beside her there
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| There was was no one to write the green-eyed girl
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| The words that her lover had said
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| While mother at home is awaiting her girl
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| She’ll only know she is dead
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| She’ll only know she’s dead
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| She’ll only know she’s dead |