On the Cumberland's bosom
The moonbeams are bright,
And the path of the raiders
Is plain by her light;
Across the broad riffle
And up the steep bank.
The long winding column
Moves rank after rank.
Then ho! for the bluegraas —
And welcome the chance —
No matter the danger
That bids us advance;
The odds must be heavy
To turn or deter
The lads who make war
With the pistol and spur!
All hail to the bluegrass!
So sweet in my sight —
To its pastures so green
And its waters so bright;
If it pass to the stranger,
Be lost to the brave,
I'll ask of my birthland
Enough for a grave.