Читать книгу Campfire and Battlefield - John Clark Ridpath - Страница 36

JOHN BROWN'S BODY.

John Brown was hanged in December, 1859, and a little more than a year after this time the celebrated marching-tune, "John Brown's Body," came into being. It is a singular fact that the composer of the stirring and popular air of this song is unknown. Possibly it had no composer, but, like Topsy, "it was not born, but just growed." This seems to be the most reasonable theory of its origin. The words of the song, as given in this collection, with the exception of the first stanza, were written by Charles S. Hall, of Charlestown, Mass. "John Brown's Body" was the most popular war song among the Northern soldiers on the march and around the campfire. In fact, it became the marching song of the armies of the Nation. It was equally popular in the cities, villages, and homes of the North. The Pall Mall Gazette, of October 14, 1865, said: "The street boys of London have decided in favor of 'John Brown's Body' against 'My Maryland' and 'The Bonnie Blue Flag.' The somewhat lugubrious refrain has excited their admiration to a wonderful degree."

John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave; John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave; John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave; His soul is marching on. Glory, halle—hallelujah! Glory, halle—hallelujah! Glory, halle—hallelujah! His soul is marching on! He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord! (thrice.) His soul is marching on! John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back! (thrice.) His soul is marching on! His pet lambs will meet him on the way; (thrice.) As they go marching on! They will hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree! (thrice.) As they march along! Now, three rousing cheers for the Union! (thrice.) As we are marching on! Glory; halle—hallelujah! Glory, halle—hallelujah! Glory, halle—hallelujah! Hip, hip, hip, hip, hurrah!

WHEN JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME.

Another army song that became almost as popular in England as in this country is "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." It was written and composed by Mr. Patrick S. Gilmore, leader of the celebrated Gilmore's Band. The words do not amount to much, but the tune is of that rollicking order which is very catching. Without doubt the author built up the words of this song to suit the air, on the same principle that in Georgia they build a chimney first and erect the house against it. This rattling war song has kept its hold on the ears of the people to the present time. Mr. Gilmore afterward composed an ambitious national hymn which has never attained the popularity of his war song.

When Johnny comes marching home again, Hurrah! hurrah! We'll give him a hearty welcome then, Hurrah! hurrah! The men will cheer, the hays will shout, The ladies they will all turn out, And we'll all feel gay, When Johnny comes marching home. The men will cheer, the boys will shout, The ladies they will all turn out, And we'll all feel gay, When Johnny comes marching home. The old church-bell will peal with joy, Hurrah! hurrah! To welcome home our darling boy, Hurrah! hurrah! The village lads and lasses say, With roses they will strew the way; And we'll all feel gay, When Johnny comes marching home. Get ready for the jubilee, Hurrah! hurrah! We'll give the hero three times three, Hurrah! hurrah! The laurel wreath is ready now To place upon his loyal brow; And we'll all feel gay, When Johnny comes marching home. Let love and friendship on that day, Hurrah! hurrah! Their choicest treasures then display, Hurrah! hurrah! And let each one perform some part, To fill with joy the warrior's heart; And we'll all feel gay, When Johnny comes marching home. The men will cheer, the boys will shout, The ladies they will all turn out, And we'll all feel gay, When Johnny comes marching home.

GRAFTED INTO THE ARMY.

BY HENRY C. WORK.

Our Jimmy has gone to live in a tent, They have grafted him into the army; He finally puckered up courage and went, When they grafted him into the army. I told them the child was too young—alas! At the captain's forequarters they said he would pass— They'd train him up well in the infantry class— So they grafted him into the army. CHORUS: O Jimmy, farewell! Your brothers fell Way down in Alabarmy; I thought they would spare a lone widder's heir, But they grafted him into the army. Drest up in his unicorn—dear little chap! They have grafted him into the army; It seems but a day since he sot on my lap, But they have grafted him into the army. And these are the trousies he used to wear— Them very same buttons—the patch and the tear— But Uncle Sam gave him a bran new pair When they grafted him into the army. Now in my provisions I see him revealed— They have grafted him into the army; A picket beside the contented field, They have grafted him into the army. He looks kinder sickish—begins to cry— A big volunteer standing right in his eye! Oh, what if the duckie should up and die, Now they've grafted him into the army!