T SHERMAN'S MARCH. BY A SOLDIER. HEIR lips are still as the lips of the dead, The gaze of their eyes is straight ahead; The tramp, tramp, tramp of ten thousand feet Keep time to that muffled, monotonous beat,Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! Ten thousand more! and still they come To fight a battle for Christendom! With cannon and caissons, and flags unfurled, The foremost men in all the world! Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! The foe is entrenched on the frowning hill,- The champions of the human race! Rub a dub dub; rub a dub dub! "By regiment! Forward into line!" Then sabres and guns and bayonets shine. Oh ye, who feel your fate at last, Repeat the old prayer as your hearts beat fast! Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! Oh, ye who waited and prayed so long But smite the foe with the wrath of God! O Death! what a charge that carried the hill! While far on their route our drummers I hear,- [A body of negro troops entered Richmond singing this song when the Union forces took possession of the Confederate capital. It is an interesting fact, illustrative of the elasticity of spirit shown by the losers in the great contest, that the song, which might have been supposed to be peculiarly offensive to their wounded pride and completely out of harmony with their deep depression and chagrin, became at once a favorite among them, and was sung, with applause, by young men and maidens in wellnigh every house in Virginia.-EDITOR.] AY, darkeys, hab you seen de massa, SAV Wid de muffstash on he face, Go long de road some time dis mornin', He took he hat an' leff berry sudden, De massa run, ha, ha! De darkey stay, ho, ho! It mus' be now de kingdum comin', He six foot one way an' two foot todder, I spec he 'll try to fool dem Yankees, De massa run, ha, ha! De darkey stay, ho, ho! It mus' be now de kingdum comin', De darkeys got so lonesome libb'n In de log hut on de lawn, Dey moved dere tings into massa's parlor For to keep it while he gone. Dar's wine an' cider in de kitchin, An' de darkeys dey hab some, I spec it will be all fiscated, LIBRAD OF THE OF De massa run, ha, ha! De darkey stay, ho, ho! It mus' be now de kingdum comin', De oberseer he makes us trubble, An' he dribe us roun' a spell, We lock him up in de smoke-house cellar, De whip am lost, de han'-cuff broke, He big an' ole enough for to know better Dan to went an' run away. De massa run, ha, ha! De darkey stay, ho, ho! It mus' be now de kingdum comin', |