From The Birmingham Age Herald, May 19, 1915. By Lance Hendrix.
He marches away in his slumbers,
With a gay, romantic heart,
And thinks of the coming battles
In which he will soon take part.
He thinks of a mother he’s leaving,
And a sister so bonny and gay,
But his thoughts are most of another,
His beautiful, dark-eyed May.
Again he’s with Lee in Virginia,
Where the Rappahannock flows,
And forming in line of battle
To fight the northern foes.
His heart is again rent with passion,
His mind is fiery with hate;
He rushes into the battle,
Leaving his safety to fate.
He sees the flag of the southland
Flaunt proudly in the breeze,
And hears the shouts of the soldiers
Ringing in all the trees.
He sees the opposing enemy
Retire from the field in defeat,
And a thrill runs through his body
From his head to the sole of his feet.
The scene is removed in a moment
To another battle field,
Where the fight has raged for hours,
And neither side will yield.
Again the vision takes him
To a field that’s farther away,
Where the men in blue are victorious,
And slowly retreat the gray.
Very true and vivid
Do all those battles seem.
But, alas! he wakes to find
That he’s only had a dream.
A little maid before him,
Her head a mass of gold,
Whispers softly, “Grandfather dear,
Your tea is getting cold.”