Come forth, ye gallant heroes, Rub up each rusty gun, And face these hireling Yankees, Who live by tap of drum. We Volunteers are wearied, By a twelve months' "sojourn;" We want to rest a little, And then we'll fight "again."
We've won some five pitched battles, But will yield you our "posish;" And if you want some glory, Why pitch in now, "Melish." Don't refuse to leave your spouses; Our own are just as dear, And each lonely little woman Longs for her Volunteer.
Don't mind your sobbing sweethearts; For though 'tis hard to part, We'll volunteer to cheer 'em, And console each troubled heart. For the sake of old Virginia, Come and fight! that's if you can, And let your prattling babies Know their daddy was a man.
For you we've fought and struggled; Had "no furloughs" - nary one - We want a little resting, And so we're coming home. Then forward, bold Militia! "If you're coming, come along," Or, by the gods! we'll force you out To do your duty - right or wrong.
R. M. Chambers, Baltimore, Md.
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