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Stonewall Jackson's way.’

A song by Dr. John Williamson Palmer.
[This famous camp song was originally published from what purported to be ‘a Ms. found on the person of a dead Confederate soldier,’ and its authorship has never, so far as we know, been claimed by any one until recently Dr. John Williamson Palmer, in a letter to the New York World avows the authorship and claims that he ‘made this song at Oakland, Alleghany Co. Md., to the tune of the guns of Antietam, which he could hear as he wrote.’

Dr. Palmer is a native of Baltimore, and a writer of no mean repute, and his letter seems to settle the authorship. He gives the following as the original and correct version of the song.]

Come, stack arms, men; pile on the rails;
     Stir up the camp fire bright!
No growling if the canteen fails;
     We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
     There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong-
To swell the brigade's rousing song
     Of Stonewall Jackson's way.

We see him now; that queer slouched hat
     Cocked o'er his eye askew;
The shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat,
     So calm, so blunt, so true!
The Blue-light Elder knows them well;
     Says he: “That's Banks: he's fond of shell.
Lord save his soul! we'll give him” —Well!
     That's Stonewall Jackson's way.

Silence! Ground arms! Kneel all! Caps off!
     Ole massa's goina to pray.
Strangle the fool! that dares to scoff;
     Attention! it's his way.
Appealing from his native sod,
     In forma pauperis, to God,
“Lay bare thine arms! Stretch forth thy rod;
     Amen!” —that's Stonewall's way.

He's in the saddle now. Fall in!
     Steady, the whole brigade!
Hill's at the ford, cut off. We'll win
     His way out, ball and blade. [137]
What matter if our shoes are worn?
     What matter if our feet are torn?
Quick step! We're with him before dawn.
     That's Stonewall Jackson's way.

The sun's bright lances rout the mists
     Of morning; and, by George!
Here's Longstreet struggling in the lists,
     Hemmed in an ugly gorge.
Pope and his Yankees whipped before,
     ‘Bayonets and Grape!’ hear Stonewall roar.
Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score
     In Stonewall Jackson's way!

Ah, maiden! wait and watch, and yearn
     For news of Stonewall's band.
Ah, widow! read with eyes that burn
     That ring upon thy hand.
Ah, wife! sew on, pray on, hope on;
     Thy life shall not be all forlorn,
The foe had better ne'er been born
     That gets in Stonewall's way!

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Stonewall Jackson (10)
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Stonewall (4)
J. E. B. Stuart (2)
Shenandoah (2)
S. J. Pope (2)
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Ashby (2)
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