"In this fearful struggle between North and South there are hundreds of
cases in which fathers are arrayed against sons, brothers against
brothers."--_American paper._
"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot,
Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;
Ring me a ball on the glittering spot,
That shines on his breast like an amulet!"
"Ah! Captain, here goes for a fine-drawn bead;
There's music around, when my barrel's in tune."
Crack! went the rifle; the messenger sped,
And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.
"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes and snatch
From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood;
A button, a loop, or that luminous patch,
That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud."
"O Captain! I staggered and sunk in my track,
When I gazed on the face of the fallen vidette,
For he looked so like you as he lay on his back,
That my heart rose upon me and masters me yet.
"But I snatched off the trinket--this locket of gold--
An inch from the center my lead broke its way,
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."
"Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket--'tis she:
My brother's young bride--and the fallen dragoon
Was her husband--hush! soldier, 'twas heaven's decree;
We must bury him there by the light of the moon!
"But hark! the far bugles their warning unite;
War is a virtue--weakness a sin;
There's a lurking and loping around us to-night;
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"