Come, stack arms, men; pile on the rails; Stir up the camp-fire bright! No growling if the canteen fails: We ’ll make a roaring night. Here Shenandoah brawls along, There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, To swell the Brigade’s rousing song, Of Stonewall Jackson’s Way. We see him now—the queer slouched hat, Cocked o’er his eye askew; The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat, So calm, so blunt, so true. The “Blue-light Elder” knows ’em well: Says he, “That ’s Banks; he ’s fond of shell.— Lord save his soul! we ’ll give him—;” Well, That ’s Stonewall Jackson’s Way. Silence! Ground arms! Kneel all! Caps off! Old Massa ’s going to pray. Strangle the fool that dares to scoff: Attention!—it ’s his way. Appealing from his native sod, In forma pauperis to God. “Lay bare Thine arm! Stretch forth Thy rod: Amen!”—That ’s Stonewall’s Way. He ’s in the saddle now. Fall in! Steady! the whole brigade. Hill ’s at the ford, cut off; we ’ll win His way out, ball and blade. What matter if our shoes are worn? What matter if our feet are torn? Quick step! we ’re with him before morn: That ’s Stonewall Jackson’s Way. The sun’s bright lances rout the mists Of morning; and—By George! Here ’s Longstreet, struggling in the lists, Hemmed in an ugly gorge. Pope and his Dutchmen!—whipped before. “Bay’nets and grape!” hear Stonewall roar. Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby’s score, In Stonewall Jackson’s Way. Ah, Maiden! wait and watch and yearn For news of Stonewall’s band. Ah, Widow! read, with eyes that burn, That ring upon thy hand. Ah, Wife! sew on, pray on, hope on! Thy life shall not be all forlorn. The foe had better ne’er been born, That gets in Stonewall’s Way.
Stonewall Jackson’s Way
More from Poet
-
Come, stack arms, men; pile on the rails; Stir up the camp-fire bright! No growling if the canteen fails: We ’ll make a roaring night. Here Shenandoah brawls along, There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, To swell the Brigade’s rousing song, Of Stonewall Jackson’s Way. We see him now—the...
-
The Night is late, the house is still; The angels of the hour fulfil Their tender ministries, and move From couch to couch in cares of love. They drop into thy dreams, sweet wife, The happiest smile of Charlie’s life, And lay on baby’s lips a kiss, Fresh from his angel-brother’s bliss; And, as...
-
Sweeter and sweeter, Soft and low, Neat little nymph, Thy numbers flow, Urging thy thimble, Thrift’s tidy symbol, Busy and nimble, To and fro; Prettily plying Thread and song, Keeping them flying Late and long. Through the stitch linger, Kissing thy finger...
-
Spruce macaronis, and pretty to see, Tidy and dapper and gallant were we; Blooded, fine gentlemen, proper and tall, Bold in a fox-hunt and gay at a ball; Prancing soldados so martial and bluff, Billets for bullets, in scarlet and buff— But our cockades were clasped with a mother’s low prayer,...
-
“now for a brisk and cheerful fight!” Said Harman, big and droll, As he coaxed his flint and steel for a light, And puffed at his cold clay bowl; “For we are a skulking lot,” says he, “Of land-thieves hereabout, And these bold señores, two to one, Have come to smoke us out.” Santa Anna...