by A daughter of Georgia.Advance, or not advance; that is the question!
Whether 'tis better in the mind to suffer
The jeers and howlings of outrageous Congressmen;
Or to take up arms against a host of rebels,
And, by opposing, beat them?--To fight — to win--
No more: and by a victory, to say we end
This war, and all the thousand dreadful shocks
The flesh's exposed to--'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To fight, to win,
To beat! perchance be beaten ;--ay, there's the rub;
After a great defeat, what would ensue!
When we have shuffled off the battle-field,
Must give us pause; there's the respect
That makes calamity a great defeat.
But shall I bear the scorn of all the North,
The “outward” pressure, and old Abe's reviling,
The pangs of being scoffed at for this long delay,
The turning out of office--(ay, perchance,
When I myself might now my greatness make
With a great battle?) I'd not longer bear
To drill and practice troops behind entrenchments,
But that the fear of meeting with the foe
On dread Manassas, from whose plains
Few of us would return — puzzles my will,
And makes me rather bear the ills I have,
Than fly to others which are greater far.
These Southerners make cowards of us all.