The March of The Iron Brigade


See, where the morning's beam
Purples the Cedar stream,
Long lines of bayonets gleam,
    Fiercely and bright arrayed.
Tramp, tramp, with step so true,
As if on grand review.
It is the march, I trow,
    Of the Iron Brigade.

Bristoe and Catlett's glen
All are alive with men,
Cheery and blithe as when
    Forming on dress parade;
Onward, thro' wood and field,
Hearts all with courage steel'd
Ne'er to the foe shall yield
    The old Iron Brigade.

Tramp, tramp, with weary feet,
Thro' rivers wide and deep,
O'er pathways rough and steep,
    Breastwork and barricade;
Covering ten leagues and more,
To Rappahannock's shore,
Men never marched before
    Like the Iron Brigade.

Grand was the martial sight,
In the glad morning's light,
When from old Falmouth's height.
    Footmen and Cavalcade,
'Mid bridges burning high,
Burnishing all the sky,
March'd with light step and spry,
    The old Iron Brigade.

Cheer upon cheer arise,
Up thro' the vaulted skies,
While the proud rebel flies,
    Baffled and sore dismay'd.
Long will the poets tell,
While the glad numbers swell,
All the deeds that befell
    The old Iron Brigade.



John Bryson