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A BALLAD OF A DRUM
Had sworn that he, at least, would pass
Beyond the sanguine tide,
And beat his drum, whate'er should come,
Upon the farther side.
So Estienne at Arcola—
No fear had he to die!—
With one brave Sergeant, swam the stream,
His precious drum held high,
And from the river dripping rose
Amid the battle's hum,
A French refrain, with might and main,
To pound upon his drum.
The Austrians at Arcola
Seemed fifty thousand strong,
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