Читать книгу The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No 3, September, 1862 - Various - Страница 11

Will nothing rouse the Northmen

To see what they can do?

When in one day of our war-growth

The South are growing two?

When they win a victory it always counts a pair,

One at home in Dixie, and another over there!

North, you have spent your millions!

North, you have sent your men!

But if the war ask billions,

You must give it all again.

Don't stop to think of what you've done—it's very fine and true—

But in fighting for our life, the thing is, what we've yet to do.

Who dares to talk of party,

And the coming President,

When the rebels threaten 'bolder raids,'

And all the land is rent?

How dare we learn 'they gather strength,' by every telegraph,

If an army of a million could have scattered them like chaff!

What means it when the people

Are prompt with blood and gold,

That this devil-born rebellion

Is growing two years old?

The Nigger feeds them as of old, and keeps away their fears,

While 'gayly into battle' go the 'Southern cavaliers.'

And the Richmond Whig, which lately

Lay groveling in mud,

Shows its mulatto insolence,

And prates of 'better blood:'

'We ruled them in the Union; we can thrash them out of bounds:

Ye are mad, ye drunken Helots—cap off, ye Yankee hounds!'

Yet the Northman has the power,

And the North would not be still!

Rise up! rise up, ye rulers!

Send the people where ye will!

Don't organize your victories—fly to battle with your bands—

If you can find the brains to lead, we'll find the willing hands!