Men and Knaves

Published by Chas. Magnus, 12 Frankfort, St., N. Y.

Men And Knaves.

The people rise, the storm’s unchained!
Who, folding his arms, hath idle remained?
Fie on thee, knave by the chimney stone,
Crouching ‘mid maidens and dames alone.

In the stormy night, when the wind blows cold,
In the driving rain, while our watch we hold,
Thou canst stretch thy length in the curtain’d bed,
Dreamily turning thy pillowed head.

When the trumpet’s voice is heard abroad,
Stirring our hearts like the thunder of God,
In the theatre thou thy ease canst take,
And hear the ditties the actors make.

While the burning heat of the day we bear.
And water to quench our thirst is rare,
’Tis thine to carouse o’er the bright champagne,
And to load thy board till it groans again.

When, amid the turmoil of iron war,
Our thoughts to our true-loves wander far,
Thou’t fain to furnish thy pocket with gold,
For a man like thee love is bought and sold.

When bullets whistle, and lances ring
While abroad through our line stalks the shadowy king,
At the card table thou thy foe canst kill,
Vanquishing kings with the bold spadille.

And when in the battle our time draws near.
Then welcome, brave death of the volunteer!
Beneath the coverlet death finds thee,
Tortured by med’cine and surgery.
Thou diest like a coward in silken bed;
No loving maiden shall mourn thee dead,—
A patriotic song shall not tell thy fame.
Nor a hearty wine-cup be pledged in they name.

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