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Updated: June 22, 2025
Adopting the former alternative, I took my papers from my sabretasche, and was about to place them in the hands of the aide-de-camp, when the folding-doors at the end of the apartment suddenly flew open, and a large and handsome man with a high bald forehead entered hastily.
Oh, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon In battle, in bivouac, or in saloon, From the tip of his spur to his bright sabretasche. With his soldierly gait and his bearing so high, His gay laughing look and his light speaking eye, He frowns at his rival, he ogles his wench, He springs in his saddle and chasses the French, With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche.
When the battle is over, he gayly rides back To cheer every soul in the night bivouac, With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche. Oh, there you may see him in full glory crowned, As he sits 'midst his friends on the hardly won ground, And hear with what feeling the toast he will give, As he drinks to the land where all Irishmen live, With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche.
"A hussar without beard, as well without spurs or sabretasche;" a tambour major without his staff, a cavalry charger without a tail, couldn't be more ridiculous: and there was that old sergeant of the riding-school, "Tronchon," with a beard that might have made a mattress!
Impatient, however, to look over my other letters, I thought but little of this; so, throwing them hurriedly into my sabretasche, I cantered on to my quarters without delay.
"I'm quite ready," said Power, as he placed his papers in his sabretasche; "but first tell us what's doing here. Anything new lately?" "I have heard nothing, except of some affair with the Portuguese, they've been drubbed again; but our people have not been engaged. I say, we had better get under way; there's our first lieutenant with his telescope up; he's looking straight at us. So, come along.
His spirits are high, and he little knows care, Whether sipping his claret or charging a square, With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche. As ready to sing or to skirmish he's found, To take off his wine or to take up his ground; When the bugle may call him, how little he fears To charge forth in column and beat the Mounseers, With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche.
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