JOHN BURNS AGAIN. 391 



Grasped from the tight-clenched hand the gun, 

 Smoking and warm ; nor pangs he felt 

 As he took the cartridge-box and belt 

 From the dying man, and buckled them on, 

 For the blood was hot in fighting John. 

 And he stepped in line with an iron will. 

 And not forgetting his old-time skill, 

 When he gunned for squirrels on yonder hill, 

 And which in his eyes yet seemed to lurk, 

 He spat on his hands and went to work. 



How he and the boys had another spat 

 About his clothes and bell-crowned hat, 

 Bret Harte has told you all of that ! 

 No matter if some his story doubt — 

 So I'll just narrate what he left out. 



Not caring a peg for Hardee's drill, 



John's plan was to " load and fire at will ;" 



And as he blazed to left and right 



Each shot gave vent to a special spite. 



This for Sumpter. That Bull Run— 



And here he double-shotted his gun ; 



This Fredericksburg. That Chancellorsville — 



For each he shot with a will to kill. 



This for the time he kept away 



From the ranks of the Blue in front of the Gray. 



That for the dead Wisconsin man. 



Whose record ended when his began. 



Mute but appealing lying there — 



And here he " loaded his gun for bear," 



This for his colonel wounded sore — 



'Twas then as he banged away he swore. 



Till with this for that and that for this. 



Firing away with seldom a miss. 



His cartridge-box was emptied quite 



Before he had shot away his spite. 



