Ben King's Verse/De Bugle On De Hill

by Benjamin Franklin King

I doan like de noise ob de marchin' ob de boys,
   An' I 'low doan s'pose I evah will;
Er de trampin' ob de feet to de drum's wild beat,
   Er de sound ob de bugle on de hill.
Hit 'minds me ob de day when Gabe marched away
   En ole missus stood beside de cabin do';
Somepin' whispahed in my ear 'bout my little vol-
      unteer,
   An' said he nevah will come back no mo'.

I 'membah now de day jes' how he marched away,
   Wid de bright sun er climbin' up de sky,
Marched out en down de street to de drum's wild
      beat,
   Den dey fotched him home to die.
Oh, de sad en moanful way, po' old missus kneeled
      ter pray,
   When Gabe said: "Hit's gittin' mighty still."
But I rise en jine de boys when I hear de cannon's
      noise,
   Er de blowin' ob de bugle on de hill.

Hit 'pears es if I seen de ole plantation green,
   En sometimes I sho'ly think I hear
De regiment pars by, en 'low I hear de cry
   En de moan ob my little volunteer.
En I see de moanful way po' ole missus kneel to pray,
   En sometimes when all aroun' is still,
I kin hear de tread ob feet to de drum's wild beat
   En de blowin' ob de bugle on de hill.

Dar's a spot mighty dear to dis ole darky here,
   Whar de sunlight is peepin' froo de palms,
Wid his hands 'pon his breast, dar my soldier's gone
      to rest,
   Jes' peacefully er sleepin' in de calms.
En de drum's wild beat er de tread ob marchin' feet
   No mo' kain't disturb 'im now until
De Lord gibs command, den I know he'll rise en
      stand
   At de sound ob de bugle on de hill.