To the Army of the Potomac.
"Drummer Boy of Antietam" (1863)
A War Ballad
[Words & ?] Music Composed & Adapted by
Albert Fleming.

Louisville, KY: D. P. FAULDS, No. 70, Main St.
Southern Agent for Steinway & Sons & Chickering & Sons Pianos.
R. O. Reed, Engraver. [lithographer]
Plate No. 1664--5.
J. Slinglandt, Engraver & Printer.
[Source: 1863-200001111@LoC/IHAS/CWS]

1. Where fierce Antietam’s long battle
Made the mountain echoes rattle,
As brave thousands fell like cattle—
At the butchers red emplay:
There his fragile figure, seeming,
As if he were sleeping, dreaming,
While his lifeblood was outstreaming,
Lay the little drum mer boy,
Ah! welladay; His soul had fled  a way;
Never more may they see him whom once they knew,
And the soldier ears that fed,
On the music that he shed,
No more shall hear his thrilling ratrattoo—
Rattattoo— Rattattoo— Rattattoo— Rattattoo—
No more shall hear his thrilling rattattoo.

2. By the shell our ranks that troubled,
There his tiny form was doubled,
And then through the wound that bubbled,
That brave boyish spirit pass’d,
Yet did no distorted feature,
Of the gallant little creature,
E’er evince the change in nature
That had come to him at last.
Ah! welladay, As once at home he lay
As the peace of the cradle were felt anew,
Nor Father more, nor Mother;
Nor Sister more nor Brother
Shall hear him beat his thrilling rattattoo—
Rattattoo— Rattattoo— Rattattoo— Rattattoo—
Shall hear him beat his thrilling rattattoo.

3. Near where the stripling perished,
Lay the drum he so much cherished,
And the sticks he nimbly flourished,
  In his hands were still descried.
But each one like him was battered,
By the missles as they scattered,
And yet though they all were shattered,
  Never had they left his side,
    Ah! welladay,
  As, silently they lay,
As the young heart whose throbs ever were so true;
  And their mission fitly ended,
  With his whose soul was blended
With the magic of their stirring rattattoo,
Rattattoo, Rattattoo, Rattattoo, Rattattoo,
With the magic of their stirring rattattoo.

4. Where he fell, the youth was buried,
With the drum and sticks he carried,
And the swarthy soldiers tarried
  And forgot the victor’s joy;
For most hard was the reflection,
That a regiment’s affection,
Could not give a resurrection,
  To the little drummer boy,
    Ah! welladay,
  Sweet blossoms fall in May;
Patriot blood is still fertillizing the dew.
  And his mem’ry will revive,
  And still freshly keep alive
As long as soldiers love the rattattoo,
Rattattoo— Rattattoo—, Rattattoo—, Rattattoo,
As long as soldiers love the rattattoo.