The Last Race of the Rail-Splitter.

The Last Race of the Rail-Splitter.

When Zerxes and when Cyrus led;
When Bonaparte and Washington,
They took the field, as it is said,
Not so King Lincoln, finds his fun.

When dying soldiers strew the plain,
In Washington he keeps his guard,
Far from the peril and the pain,
Prepar’d to run from Beauregard.

But there’s a race he’ll likely take,
When Southern troops shall press him hard,
Some morning, when he early wakes,
And hears the guns of Beauregard.

In that great race, he’ll be the first,
And Northward streak his hurried way;
When Baltimore he cannot trust,
And Washington’s too hot to stay.

Quick—out of bed—no time for pants;
Says he, from bullets we must run;
The shirts they fly—the linen flaunts—
The little dog laughs at the fun.

As frightened rats, when houses burn,
Escape before the ruin falls,
So honest Abe, his tail will turn,
To save his skin from rifle balls.

He was so scar’d that dreary night; *
When hidden like a cask or bail,
In railroad cars, from ev’ry sight,
He pass’d this city on the rail.

The night he hid, and sent his wife,
Where dead next day she might be found,
And lose, on Central Road, her life,
Whilst hidden, he went dodging round.

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