1.
The din of the battle was o'er,
And the moon shed her silvery ray,
When alone on the Bravo's dark shore,
A poor wounded trumpeter lay;
He gazed on the flag of his pride,
As its stars rivall'd those in the skies;
"Still waves it in triumph!" he cried,
While the death-mist was diming his eyes.

Hark! hark! 'tis the bugle I hear,
How mournful the music to me!
I'll echo the call with a strain more dear,
The trumpet of victory!
The trumpet of victory!

2.
He sigh'd for the home of his youth,
While the purple stream ran from his side--
For the maid who had plighted her troth,
And soon would have been his young bride;
Her name was in every breath,
And wild beat the pulse of his heart;
His last charge was sounded! and death,
With a victor's grim laugh threw his dart.

Hark! hark! the last bugle is heard,
And low droops the flag of the free--
An echo is heard to the screaming bird,
'Tis the trumpet of Victory!
'Tis the trumpet of Victory!

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.