Quotes About Bugle

I was a drummer in the bugle band in cadets. I marched. It's probably quite funny to look back on it.

Where, where was Roderick then!One blast upon his bugle hornWere worth a thousand men!

Once at the White House I was asked to conduct the Drum and Bugle Corp. The man just handed me the baton and I finished the song. It was great. I got to keep the baton.

Without having planned it—and without any official sanction—Chamberlain suddenly gave the order for Union soldiers to "carry arms" as a sign of their deepest mark of military respect. A bugle call instantly rang out. All along the road, Union soldiers raised their muskets to their shoulders, the salute of honor.

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn:Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle horn.

The splendor falls on castle wallsAnd snowy summits old in story:The long light shakes across the lakes,And the wild cataract leaps in glory.Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

I think of myself, basically, as a very practical person in black bugle beads.

My first recollection is that of a bugle call.

The trouble for the thief is not how to steal the chief's bugle, but where to blow it

The worst moment was always taps. It didn't matter if the bugler played it well or poorly, in tune or out; there was something in the mournful ache of the music, and how it spoke of men dying before their time for something they only vaguely understood and being only vaguely appreciated by the people on whose behalf they died, that made it hurt so much.

Reveille came in the form of an electric buzzer, the kind associated with a cheap alarm clock. That was good news. No bugle--he hated bugles in the morning.

For me to want to play the trumpet was a very, very odd thing for my clan as a whole. One of my uncles was a high school principal, and he referred to my trumpet as a bugle, which really hurt me.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills…

Somewhere near the Alamo, a bugle brayed: either that or McCulloch's men had found some reason to torture a poor, defenseless donkey.

Tea, pa! said Charlotte, starting at the word like the old war-horse who hears the bugle; and we got down to it.

Soon he would be walking a beat in one of the training camps, with a bugle call in his ears and the turmoil of thousands of soldiers in the making around him; soon, too, he would be walking the deck of a transport.....feeling under his feet the soil of a foreign country, with hideous and incomparable war shrieking its shell furies and its man anguish all about him.

A bugler sounded the Last Post. Heartbreak made audible.