Their motto: "Victory or an epitaph,"
And well they did their part, Mahone's Brigade.


II.

Were mine the gift to coin my heart of hearts
In living words, fit tribute should be paid
To all the heroes whose enacted parts
Gave fame immortal to Mahone's Brigade.

But he who bore the musket is the man
Whose figure should for future time be made--
Cleft from a rock by some new Thorwaldsen--
The Private Soldier of Mahone's Brigade.

His was that sense of duty only felt
By souls heroic. In the modest shade
He lived, or fell; but his, Fame's Starry Belt--
His, Fame's own Galaxy, Mahone's Brigade.

And in that Belt--all luminous with stars,
Unnamed and woven in a wondrous braid--
A blaze of glory in the sky of Mars--
Your orbs are thickly set, Mahone's Brigade.

The Private Soldier is the man who comes
From mart, or plain, or grange, or sylvan glade,
To answer calls of trumpets and of drums--
So came the Soldier of Mahone's Brigade.