Civil Bellum.
[from the London "One a Week."]
"In this fearful struggle between the North and South, there are hundreds of cases in which fathers are arrayed against sons, brothers against brothers American Paper.
‘ "Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot.
Straight at the heart of you prowling vidette;
Ring me a ball in the goffering spot
That shines on his breast like an amulet!"
"Ay. Captain! here goes for a fine drawn bead.
There's music around when my barrel's in tune!
Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,
And dead from his horse foil the Ringling dragoon.
"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes; and snatch
From your victim some trinket to mark the first blood;
A button, a loop, or that luminous patch
That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!"
O, Captain, I staggered and sunk on my truck,
When I gazed on the face of the fallen vidette;
For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,
That say' art thee upon me, and masters me yet.
"But I matched off the trinket — this locket of gold--
An inch from its centre my lead broke its way,
Scarce grazing the picture so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."
Ha, rifleman, fling me the locket!--Tis she.
My brother's young bride — and the fallen dragoon
Was her husband — Hush! soldier, 'twas heaven's decree.
We must bury him there by the light of the moon
"But hark! the far bugles their warnings untie;
War is a virtue — went near a sin.
There's lurking and loping around us to-night;
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!
’
