A life in the soldier’s camp,
A home in the snow-white tent,
Where we hear the sentry tramp,
And merry hours are spent;
Where glory waits the brave,
On the bloody battle-field,
And the Stars and Stripes shall wave,
O’er Zouaves that never yield.
Come, shoulder your musket, boys,
And off to the field of strife;
Leave home, and all its joys,
And fly to a soldier’s life—
With knapsack on your back,
And canteen by your side—
To follow the foeman’s track,
Is the brave young Zouave’s pride.
The camp is the place for me,
When my country calls me there,
To fight for the Flag of the Free,
I’d live on homeliest fare;
When the tattoo beats at night,
And the reveille in the morn,
And the Zouave’s heart is light
As soon as the day is born.
Then farewell, home and friends,
For I’ve joined the volunteers;
I’ll be with him who defends
Our Flag, and never fears.
I’m off for the Zouaves’ camp,
I’m bound for Freedom’s Wars;
On the rebel flag I’ll tramp,
And fight for the Stripes and Stars.