84. the old Rifleman.
by Frank Ticknor, M. D.Now bring me out my buckskin suit I
My pouch and powder, too!
We'll see if seventy-six can shoot
As sixteen used to do.
Old Bess! we've kept our barrels bright I
Our trigger quick and true!
As far, if not as fine a sight,
As, long ago, we drew!
And pick me out a trusty flint I
A real white and blue;
Perhaps 'twill win the other tint,
Before the hunt is through!
Give boys your brass percussion caps I!
Old “shut-pan” suits as well I
There's something in the sparks; perhaps
There's something in the smell!
We've seen the red-coat Briton bleed!
The red-skin Indian, too!
We never thought to draw a bead
But, Bessie! bless your dear old heart!
Those days are mostly done;
And now we must revive the art
Of shooting on the run!
If Doodle must be meddling, why,
There's only this to do:
Select the black spot in his eye,
And let the daylight through I
And if he doesn't like the way
That Bess presents the view,
He'll may-be change his mind, and stay
Where the good Doodles do!
Where Lincoln lives;--the man, you know,
Who kissed the Testament,
To keep the Constitution?--No!
To keep the Government!
 We'll hunt for Lincoln, Bess!--old tool--
And take him half-and-half;
We'll aim to kit him, if a fool,
And miss him, if a calf!
We'll teach these shot-gun boys the tricks Fe
By which a war is won;
Especially how seventy-six
Took Tories on the run.