Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8.
Frank Moore, Ed.

[14]
     With a pill as can operate single,
At eight hundred yards and “no rest,”
     He's left for his cusses to mingle,
Like a eagle what's glued to his nest.

”'Twas only last night when on duty
     A sightina them pickets oa theirs,
That I drew a true bead on a “beauty,”
     With a greasy old coon on his ears--
“O beautiful varmint I I'll shoot ye,”
     I whispered aloud unawares.

” “No, you won't,” says my comrade, ole Dan'l,
     “The orders keep pickets from harm.”
”Well, I'll rip up them stripes of red flannel
     What so sarcily shine on his arm,“
I pleaded, but “No,” says old Dan'l,
     “The order's keep pickets from harm.”

”Sech orders my heart's disappointin,
     'Twasn't sech as inveigled me in
To clap my mark down to the writina
     The recruiter said glories would win.
Oh! when fellers is gathered for fightina,
     Say, why can't the scrimmage begin?

”Oh! I'm sick of this lazy black river,
     Where for ever we're likely to stay.
Why, the Capital's saved if it ever
     Will be — and it can't run away!
Can't we leave it a spell? are we never
     To sport in these diggins here — say?

”Must a cove as can ring up his twenty
     At twelve hundred yards on a “string,”
Get his hand out when varmints is plenty,
     Like a watch-works what hasn't no spring?
Must a screamer be mum when he's sent t'ye
     In voice for his sweetest to sing.

”I cares not for fierce adversaries,
     If for fightina we wasn't so slow--
O Sergeant! it's waitina that varies
     The misery that hangs on me so--
I longs for my darlina “peraries,”
     And that's why my feelings is low.