Our gallant boys have marched to the rolling of the drums.

The boys are marching four abreast, with a firm determined step; it is as though each man were saying to himself "They shall not pass."

Every boy in my class marched with me.

Small boys marched with faces painted black, red, green and white, the colors of the Palestinian flag.

Why don't you boys form a platoon and march home?

A few, too many, passionately and patriotically married boys before they marched to the front, only to never see them again.

Often the boys march around the village fountains, and go into the old houses and sing.

My boys could march in a straight line.

A plump boy in a mini-policeman's uniform, marching with his young friends around the street.

Then I could do naught; the boys all marched away; yet, at the least, their parents saw they were compelled.