« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Each torn flag wavin' chellenge ez it
An' each dumb gun a brave man's moniment,
Than seek sech peace ez only cowards
Give me the peace of dead men or of brave!
I say, ole boy, it ain't the Glorious Fourth:
You'd oughto larned 'fore this wut talk wuz worth.
ain't our nose thet gits put out o' jint;
It's England thet gives up her dearest pint.
We've gut, I tell ye now, enough to
In our own fem'ly fight, afore we're thru.
I hoped, las' spring, jest arter Sumter's shame,
When every flagstaff flapped its tethered flame,
An' all the people, startled from their doubt,
Come must rin' to the flag with sech a shout,
I hoped to see things settled 'fore this fall,
Rebbles licked, Jeff Davis hanged, an' all; Then come Bull Run, an' sence then I've ben waitin'
Like boys in Jennooary thaw for skatin',
Nothin' to du but watch my shadder's trace
Swing, like a ship at anchor, roun' my base,
With daylight's flood an' ebb: it's gitting slow,
An' I'most think we'd better let 'em
I tell ye wut, this war's agoin to
An' I tell you it wun't be money lost; We wun't give up afore the ship goes down:
It's a stiff gale, but Providence wun't drown;