Smoke, Smoke, Away
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corpse to the ramparts we hurried, Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot, O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Chorus-- Then smoke, smoke away, till the golden ray Lights up the dawn of the morrow, For a cheerful cigar, like a shield in the war, Drives away dull care and sorrow.
We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeams misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet, nor in shroud we wound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow, But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame, fresh and gory; We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him alone in his glory.
- Carmina Universitatis Novi Brunsvici. Fredericton, NB: University of New Brunswick, 1881.
© UNB Archives & Special Collections, 2014