Zouave Dew

As down the glen one summer morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in battalions passed me by
the fifes did hum and the battle drum did sound it's dread tatoo
But the bold New York men to the battle went, so fearless of the foggy dew

Right proudly high over New York Town they hung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die for the freedom’s cry and its flag that they proudly bore
And from the streets of New York Town strong men came hurrying through
While the southern sons, with their shining guns marched against them through the foggy dew


Ah, back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I'd kneel and pray for you,
For the rebels fled, if they were not dead, When we fought in the foggy dew.