386 SKETCHES IN RHYME. 



Just in front was the famed Oak Ridge, 

 While on the far horizon's edge, 

 Lifting it up on either hand. 

 Arose South Mountain rugged and grand, 

 Hiding the Valley of Cumberland. 



Peaceful the time, but it soon passed o'er, 

 And the cruel demon of civil war 

 Had plowed the land and the harvest made 

 For the reaper Death with his crescent blade. 



Throbbings of hope and fear by turns 



Pulsed through the heart of old John Burns. 



For the "canny Scot" was a patriot true. 



Who longed to fight in the ranks of Blue. 



But gathering years had bowed him down. 



And he needs must stay in Gettysburg town. 



So he fretted and fumed day after day. 



Though he pegged and stitched and hammered away. 



For there needs to be soling and heeling of shoes 



Though the war eagle^screeches or peace dove cooes ; 



Though nations go tottering to luckless fate. 



Shoemakers must work and customers wait. 



One day through the streets of the startled town 

 An army of horsemen came riding down. 

 Rebels in gray and butternut brown. 



Streaming with tatters their dusty clothes. 

 Full of vermin, as they with oaths, 

 Georgia " crackers," " tar-heel " toughs, 

 Texas cow-boys, Arkansaw roughs ; 

 But plucky in battle as well as defeat, 

 These ragged fellows were hard to beat. 

 As with rattle of sj^ur and jingle of sword. 

 Like a noisy dream, swept the hungry horde 



