O the Dragoon bold, he scorns all care,
As he goes around with his uncropped hair;
He spends no thought on the evil star
That sent him away to the border war.
His form in the saddle he lightly throws,
And on the moonlight scout he goes,
And merrily trolls some old-time song
As over the trail he bounds along.
O blithe is the life that a soldier leads
When a lawless freedom marks his deeds;
And gay his path o’er the wildwood sod,
Where a white man’s foot has never trod.
War with Mexico