A Wounded Soldier to his Comrades



A Wounded Soldier to His Comrades.

We’ll never go back on MCCLELLAN, Boys,
Nor his noble deeds forget;
And though he is taken from us, Boys,
His name is among us yet.
The tongues of Northern Villians, Boys,
Love to desecrate his name;
If they could, they would scratch it off, boys,
From the Book of Eternal Fame.

They call him a traitor and coward, Boys;
But themselves have never smelt
Gunpowder, strong pork nor hard crackers, Boys;
Nor the cold wintry winds have they felt.
Had they been at the battle of YORKTOWN, Boys,
Or at that of the SEVEN PINES,
They’d have seen LITTLE MAC in danger, Boys,
Riding, fearless along the lines.

Had they been at the battle of GLENDALE, Boys,
On the thirtieth day of June,
Where like drums the musketry rattled, Boys,
And the cannon kept time to the tune;
Mid the iron and leaden hail
They’d have seen LITTLE MAC in the storm, Boys,
As he fearlessly breasted the gale.

”Why didn’t he capture the rebels?” Boys,
Such questions they like to ask—
”Or kill every one and take RICHMOND?” Boy,
They say ’twere an easy task.
Had they felt as weary as we did, Boys,
When ANTIETAM’S dread fight was o’er,
More apt than to follow the rebels, Boys,
They’d retired to BALTIMORE!

Tis easy enough—’tis delightful, Boys,
For old Greely and Forney to stay
At their quiet homes in the North, Boys,
And blow about things far away.
How Little they care if we suffer, Boys,
In the cold and pelting storm:
They are careful to keep up their spirits, Boys—
The spirits that keep them warm.

It is said of such persons as Greely, Boys,
”They shall have their part in the lake”
But I think they will nave their all there, Boys,
If I make not a sad mistake,
And I think it will he quite amusing, Boys,
When the appointed day shall come,
To hear Satan exclaim, to such scroundrels, Boys—
”Come, Servants, you’re welcome home!”

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