1. O, come, my love, and go away to the land up north; for there, they
say, it's rite good picketin' for rebel boys. And we'll take the land, and
sweep the band of New Yorkers into the bay.
2. I've heered of Delmonico's, and Barnum's Shows, and how many hotels the
land only knows. And we'll steer our bark for Centre Park. Here's a health
to ourselves, and away she goes. (Here I drank.)
3. Then come with your knight so true, and down with the boys that's
dressed in blue. Farewell to hoe-cake an' hominy, Richmond and Montgomery.
I'll lick the damn Yankees, an' marry you.
4. Here's a heart, I reckon, as firm's a rock; no truer ever beat neath a
gray or blue frock. So come, my love, and haste away. We'll moor our bark
in New York Bay, when I end this fighting work.
Your true lover,
J. PARSLOE.
The next has been in print, and was written by Major McKnight, while a
prisoner. "He was a poet, musician, and joker, and used to run from grave
to gay, from lively to severe, on almost all mottoes. He was an especial
favorite with his guard, the Union boys."